Castaways
by fieryprophet
Summary: The NCIS team is stranded on a desert island en route to investigating a terrorist attack in Okinawa. Can they survive the flight bombing, the unforgiving island and each other? Pairings are JIBBS, TIVA, and MCABBY. Rated T for romance, language, etc.
1. Flight N76486

Author's Note:

This will be a roughly novel-length fan fiction where our faithful team gets stranded on an island in the Pacific (think NCIS/Swiss Family Robinson). Pairings will include Jibbs, Tiva, and McAbby, and the rating will be a firm T for romance, language and violence. Fun will be had by all. Enjoy!

I will only post this disclaimer once: This is a work of fiction utilizing characters I do not own nor claim ownership of. All rights belong to their proper owners.

Chapter 1 – Flight N76486

Special Agent Anthony Dinozzo tried to keep his attention on the never-ending plain of ocean outside his window, but the petite brunette sitting next to him made the task impossible. Her head was tilted towards him, her dark curls lying softly on his shoulder, a low snore tickling his ear. A break in her breathing made him glance at her. Her eyes fluttered open, and she started to yawn.

"Tony, where are we?"

"30,000 feet over the Pacific. Still about 7 hours from Tokyo."

She blinked rapidly. "That long? I feel like I have been sleeping for days."

"Me too," Tony smirked, then yowled when she abruptly hit him in the arm. "What was that for?"

"That," she replied, her eyes narrowed, "is for not waking me sooner. My bladder feels like it could pop."

"Burst, Ziva. It feels like it could burst."

She stood up stiffly and leaned suggestively over him. "That too."

Before he could respond, she headed towards the front of the plane in search of the restrooms.

Tony resumed his window-watching, then noticed with some concern black clouds emerging in the distance. The plane PA system chirped to life: "All passengers report to the squadroom."

The Naval Criminal Investigative Service, long one of the most under-funded federal agencies, had finally gained its first charter aircraft, an aging but fully-equipped Boeing 747. Tony couldn't help but feel a little pride at all the agency insignias that adorned the aircraft walls as he made his way to the first class section, retrofitted into a makeshift conference room with small armory and several computer systems. He entered the darkened room and took note of the rest of his teammates already circled around the table. His boss, grim, silver-haired Leroy Jethro Gibbs, ever-present coffee in hand, motioned to an empty seat next to Timothy McGee, who was looking paler than usual, either because of the flight or the combustible bundle of energy that sat to his right, her arm locked around his, forensic scientist Abby Scuito. Across the table sat the amber-haired director of NCIS, Jenny Shepard, her usually lovely face twisted into one of annoyance as she poked at a small black remote in her hands. She slid the remote across the table to McGee: "Make it work."

Tony slid into his seat and felt a nudge on his shoulder. "Where's Ziva?" asked Gibbs.

"Bathroom break," Tony replied. "Shouldn't take her long."

"We can't wait for her, Gibbs," Jenny said, and nodded to McGee. "This video feed is live from Okinawa."

The blue square projecting onto the screen was suddenly replaced with a smoky haze of flames and dust. Cries of pain echoed through the room, mingled with alarmed shouts and distant explosions.

Jenny talked over the video, her voice breaking audibly. "Marine Corps Air Station Futenma was targeted last night by an unknown group of terrorists. They managed to set off an unusually powerful sub-nuclear weapon of some kind, a so-called dirty bomb."

The video showed a man walking slowly through the carnage, his green camouflage seeming to dissolve and peel from his body. Tony realized with a shock that the man's skin had melted into the fabric, and sloughed away in flakes.

"At least six hundred deaths have been confirmed, a hundred civilians, and over four thousand injured."

Tony glanced over to Gibbs, whose eyes smoldered with anger in the dark. His coffee cup had crumpled in his hand. A white flash lit up the room and the video feed went dead, followed a split second later by the unmistakable rumble of thunder. A voice sounded over the PA system: "Director, we've encountered a pretty rough weather system. Permission to change course?"

Jenny groaned softly, then leaned over the table and spoke into a intercom.

"Granted, captain. However, keep us as close to the original flight plan as possible. Time is of the essence."

She pushed her head into her hands, furrowed her brows, then gave Tony a puzzled look.

"Ziva's been gone awhile, hasn't she?"

* * *

Ziva David was still a probationary NCIS agent, a "probie" as Tony loved to remind her. Though she pretended to despise the term, she relished the sense of comfort that her new title had given her. Mossad no longer controlled her, dictated to her the terms of her life. But at this moment, she could almost forgive her old agency because it had trained her to recognize threats in all forms, such as the one that had been stowed away under the women's bathroom sink, it's barely audible beeping the only clue to its existence.

Her subconscious training had taken over the screaming from her bladder, and the sight of a mess of wires tangled around a block of C4 only served to heighten the alarm. She had to work fast.

She dropped to her knees and pushed the cabinet door as far wide as it would go. She snatched her knife from its place on her belt and frantically counted the number of wires emerging from the duct-taped lump hidden behind the bomb.

There were. . far more than necessary for this kind of device. It was rigged with multiple false wires.

She breathed in sharply and went for the first one that looked like it was real.

Snip. The beeping stopped.

She exhaled in relief, and almost missed the soft click that indicated the bomb was priming. Detonation in less than a minute.

She scrambled up and burst out of the bathroom, nearly bowling over Tony in the process.

"Hey, whoa, Ziva! You OK?" he tried to steady her as she pitched forward. She screamed at the top of her voice: "BOMB! WE HAVE TO GET OUT!"

For a second, everyone froze. Gibbs' eyes locked onto hers, and read everything she couldn't say.

"Go!" he shouted, "To the back of the plane! Jenny!"

Still in the squadroom, the director quickly pushed McGee and Abby out of the room and barked orders into the intercom: "This is Director Shepard, all crew must eject immediately! There is a bomb onboard! Repeat, a bomb is onboard!"

Her mind working on autopilot, Ziva disappeared into the plane's back storage room, a plan forming feverishly in her mind. She grabbed the parachutes, fully aware their altitude was far too high for them to simply jump out.

A box caught her eye, and she snatched it from the shelf and set to work extracting its contents.

"Hold this," she handed the parachutes to Tony as he tried to push back the surge of fear that threatened to overtake him.

In quick succession, McGee, Abby, Jenny and Gibbs burst into the tiny room, and Gibbs slammed the door shut behind them. Tony started to ask about the pilots when two nickel-sized dents appeared on the door.

"The co-pilot killed the captain!" Gibbs shouted, then a monstrous roar sounded and the plane lurched out from beneath their feet.


	2. The Long Way Down

Chapter 2 – The Long Way Down

Ziva was the first to recover from the shock of the explosion. The world around her had gone quiet, the sound of her halting breath the only break in the silence. Tony stumbled in front of her and pushed her hands around the strap of a parachute. He was trying to tell her something, but those words were swallowed up by a deafening roar. The walls of the room groaned and twisted, then began to peel away like a tin can under a knife blade. She shoved her arms through the chute's straps and clutched tightly to the deflated wad of yellow plastic she had pulled from the shelf. Tony already had a chute strapped to his back, but was bent low next to McGee, both of them struggling to pull Abby up from the quickly dissolving floor. A thick line of blood was dripping from a gash across her head, and her eyes stayed closed. Gibbs was reaching for her, arms outstretched, the look on his face enough to twist Ziva's stomach into a tight knot. With a final lurch, the room split apart and Ziva felt the surrounding storm engulf her.

She was spinning rapidly, writhing frantically for balance to see where the rest of her team was. Rain was pelting her from all sides, sudden gusts of wind slamming her body from every direction. Tony was not far from her, limbs spread to give him a fighting chance at staying level with her. His face was strangely serene, a look Ziva was all too familiar with: he had passed every state of fear and shock, and was simply in terrified awe at his predicament.

Abby's limp body suddenly flew past her, a flash of lightning rendering her unconscious features like a ghost. Ziva's hand flew to her mouth and she felt tears spring to her eyes. _Why Abby? Why not me?_

She heard a muffled rustling behind her, then another body shot past her, arms pushed straight downward like a diver going headfirst. McGee was going after her! She watched him angle his body straight for Abby's rapidly disappearing form, and for a split second she thought he might have caught her, when both bodies disappeared into a fast approaching cloud.

Something grabbed her arm. Tony held her wrist, his eyes staring straight into her. He pulled her closer and wrapped his arm around her back, and she suddenly felt her heart stop.

He yelled over the wind: "I'm not dying without it."

Her question was swallowed up by his lips smashing into hers. They tumbled through the night sky, bodies intertwined for what seemed to be a lifetime, then broke apart, hands still tightly clasped.

Tony motioned to his rip cord, and she nodded in reply. Their hands drifted apart, and she pulled her cord as hard as she could. Tony swooped past her as the chute's fabric unraveled angrily into the furious storm winds. She held her breath until she saw his chute spreading open beneath her.

She swiveled her body in every direction, eyes searching the darkness for any sign of other chutes. Bursts of light danced across the clouds, giving her brief glimpses of the world around her.

No sign of Gibbs. Jenny. McGee. Abby. Only her. Only Tony.

She heard a cry below her. "Ziva! Ocean! Thirty seconds!"

She tugged the rip cord on the life raft she had managed to cling to the entire way down. It burst from her arms and inflated rapidly, the wind spinning it's ragged form all the way down to the swirling ocean below. It splashed into the water and began to take form, and for the first time since she discovered the bomb onboard the plane, she felt that she might live through the night.

The water was brutally cold, immediately sucking all warmth from her body. She cut the parachute's straps from her and barely caught her breath before a swollen wave crashed over her. The water raged in her ears, an ominous rumbling that reflected the thunderous sky. Her head shot above water and she gasped for air, but was rewarded with a breathful of saltwater that burned like fire in her lungs. She sputtered and tried to push herself above the water's surface, but her sodden clothes and exhaustion conspired to drag her deeper. A serene calmness crept over her, the dim rays of light overhead dissolving into inky blackness.

She was snatched upwards and found herself an instant later being cradled in Tony's arms as he fell backwards in the life raft. She gagged and retched up a foamy mix of water and air, her throat raw and lungs desperate for oxygen. After a few minutes of coughing fits, she curled her head into his lap and smiled when she felt his hand softly stroking her cheek.


	3. Rough Landing

Chapter 3 – Rough Landing

Special Agent Timothy McGee knew he was intelligent. It was not a fact he felt he needed to pride himself on; it was just who he was. Intelligent. Brilliant. Smart.

Brave, however, he was not, which is why he was very confused to find himself hurtling through a violent thunderstorm at a breathtaking speed towards a volatile sea with almost no plan to save himself from a grisly death. He had managed to close the clasps of his parachute seconds before the plane disintegrated around him, then saw Abby's unconscious form fly past him like a rag doll. A strange feeling swept aside any rational thought and in seconds he was barreling after her, his body pitched downwards to lessen the air's drag on his speed. He barely managed to dodge Ziva's descending form before a cloud surrounded him.

He closed in rapidly on Abby, and without thinking he spread his limbs as wide as possible and tried to level out around her. She drifted closer to him and he reached out and pulled her limp body to his chest in a half-hug, half-cradle.

"I've got you, Abby! I've got you! Don't worry!" he shouted over peals of thunder, but got no response. Suddenly, they were out of the cloud. The ocean was approaching rapidly.

Tim pushed aside his gentlemanly sense of propriety and draped Abby's arms around his neck, then wrapped his legs around her body. He knew there was a chance that the force of the parachute opening could rip her from his grasp, and he was determined not to let her go now. He yanked the rip cord.

In a burst, the chute sprung from his pack and spread across the sky. Though he steeled his body for the chute's pull, the sudden lurch combined with Abby's weight conspired to set his muscles on fire. He gritted his teeth and demanded every fiber of his being to stay strong for the woman in his arms.

A dark, ominous shape slowly rose out of the darkness ahead. A gust of wind pushed him swiftly towards the jagged spire, its massive form slowly overtaking his view. His eyes traced over the edges of the looming form, and he noticed that it almost looked to have a layer of rough fur all across its base. As they gradually drifted closer, Tim suddenly realized that he was looking at a cliff face, with a thick bramble of vegetation growing on top. A few seconds later, he was skidding along the edge of the cliff, running as fast as he could with Abby in his arms. He tried to stop himself, but his feet dragged and slipped over the smooth rock as the parachute pulled him rapidly close to the other side of the cliff.

He dropped to his knees and quickly laid Abby down on the solid ground, then clutched frantically at the straps that were pulling him to certain doom. Wordlessly blessing Gibbs for rule number 9, he snatched his knife from his belt clip and cut at the straps. His body rolled helplessly closer to the gaping abyss, mere inches from certain death. With a final stroke, the parachute broke free and was quickly swallowed up by the thunderstorm. His heart pounding in his ears, Tim slowly sat up and looked over the edge to see how far down he would have fallen. A wave of vertigo washed over him as he saw the tiny trees dotting the ground below.

After getting his bearings again, Tim crawled away from the edge and trudged slowly to where Abby lay. He pulled his now-ruined jacket from his shoulders and draped it over her, then slumped his body around her and fell asleep.

* * *

Gibbs always seemed to surprise her. Director Jenny Shepard lifted her head from its resting place on the ex-marine's chest and tried to stifle a yawn. Compared to some of the flight drops she had made during her time as a field agent, the parachute down had been uneventful. A gnawing sense of fear weighed on her, but she tried to brush off the possibility that she had just lost four agents as a premature conclusion. They were Gibbs' team, and she knew without a doubt that they inherited some of his resourcefulness and strength. At least, she told herself that.

She nudged him. "I need to know something."

Gibbs cracked an eyelid, but did not raise his half-submerged head from the water. How he managed to dead man's float in the middle of the Pacific was beyond her. Thankfully, he served particularly well as a makeshift life preserver in this condition.

"And what is that?" he replied with a slight smile.

"They've been trained for something like this, right? You wouldn't let them work with you this long without being prepared for God knows what."

He grinned even wider: "Nope."

"What do you mean no? Jethro, you can't tell me Dinozzo hasn't at least taken the NCIS wilderness course by now? That's a mandatory class!"

"We haven't been able to get around to it, Jen" he said, somewhat annoyed.

Jenny pushed a stray strand of her hair from her eyes and groaned bitterly. She spoke softly.

"Jethro, I'm afraid they're dead."

He abruptly pitched forward, splashing water all over her. He put his hand to her chin and looked sternly into her eyes. "They'll be fine, Jenny. I didn't have to train them; they know how to take care of themselves."

Jenny could not shake her doubts. She swam a small circle around Gibbs and stared off into the horizon. Her next words caught him off guard: "Gibbs, I think I see land."


	4. The Way Forward

Chapter 4 – The Way Forward

"Tony, lean to the left! Hurry!" Ziva angled her body towards him, her arms hugging the raft's plump sidewall. He draped his shirtless body over the other side of the raft and groaned as it thrust into the air. For a moment, the raft pitched precariously to one side as a wall of water swelled underneath it, then suddenly the wave was past and the raft slammed down with a loud splash. Tony rolled onto his back, grimaced painfully, then clutched at his side.

Keeping a wary eye on the surrounding waves, Ziva leaned down and ran her fingers along his ribs. His skin was hot to the touch, the effect of hours of unabated sunlight.

"Are you OK?" she asked, fully aware of the concern in her voice. He gave her a weak grin, then pushed her hand away. "Just some soreness, Zee-vah. If you want to touch me that bad, just ask."

Ziva snatched her arm away and glared. "That is not a request you will get from me." She turned away and slumped over the side of the raft. Tony sat up and reached for her.

"C'mon Ziva, it's just a stupid joke." He put his hand on her arm, but she whipped around and shook him off with a harrumph. She pointed to another approaching wave.

Tony swallowed his anger and braced himself for impact. The wave rose steadily higher, and Tony could feel his stomach sinking as the sun suddenly disappeared behind a towering, frothy wall of crystal blue water. He dove towards Ziva and shouted: "WE HAVE TO BAIL! NOW!"

The raft started to list heavily to one side, and with a deep breath Ziva plunged headfirst into the water, with Tony following close behind. Tony could hear the roar of the wave crashing overhead, then felt a surge pull him rapidly down towards the dark ocean depths. He struggled against the current, pushing himself as hard as he could towards the surface. Ziva swept past him, a look of pure terror in her eyes. His lungs afire, relief flooded Tony when he felt the current changing course and pulling them upwards. With a final kick he broke free from the undertow and shot to the surface. He spluttered and coughed, then let out a sigh when he saw Ziva's head pop up beside him. She pulled her hair from her eyes and started to tread water, a difficult task in the rough sea.

"We're going to die out here." Tony winced at the sense of finality in her voice. He looked around desperately for any sign of the raft. It was nowhere to be seen. He swam to her side and stared into her eyes. She stared back, perplexed.

"I know why you were angry," Tony said with a smirk. She narrowed her eyes. "You're mad because it took me so long, and because we had to nearly die for it to happen."

"What are you talking about, Tony?"

"I'm talking about the fact that I didn't kiss you until we were seconds away from death."

Ziva shook her head and gave him a glimmer of a smile. "We've kissed before, my little hairy butt."

Tony cringed involuntarily at the mention of her old pet name for him when they pretended to be married on an undercover op.

"No, Ziva. I mean a real kiss. One that meant something."

Her smile was replaced by an inexpressive stare. She spoke softly.

"Maybe they did mean something." She started swimming away from him.

"Wait, where are you going?" He followed after her.

She pointed into the distance, and he caught sight of a cluster of seagulls whirling around a calmer patch of ocean. Intrigued, he allowed her to lead the way in silence. As they came closer to the flock of birds, Tony suddenly stumbled forward. His feet had found something solid. After a few more feet, Ziva was trudging through water only up to her thigh. Soon, they were both stepping in only a few inches of water, their feet sinking with soft, sucking splooshes into the mud. The seagulls cawed angrily at their intrusion, but readily gave them ground. Ziva turned to Tony and smiled.

"It's a sand club!" she said happily. He groaned. "Bar, Ziva. Sand bar."

They followed the thin line of sand for a mile, the sand sometimes breaking above the water's surface for a few feet, other times dropping several feet under. Tony noticed with some excitement that it seemed to be leading to an outcrop of rocks, which seemed to stretch into the horizon and terminate on the outskirts of distant island. They worked carefully around their jagged edges, alternating between exhausting swims around crashing waves and tiring climbs over their craggy surfaces. By the time they reached the island's beach, the sun had dipped below the horizon and stars were twinkling high overhead. Tony tried to ignore the rumbling of his stomach as he looked around what might well be home for the rest of his life. As he studied the mass of trees that overlooked the beach, he suddenly wished he had learned a bit more botany in college. One of these trees had to be edible, right?

Ziva nudged him gently. "Come, Tony. We need to start a fire before you freeze to death."

In mild shock, he stammered: "What makes you say that?"

She grinned, then reached out and pinched his left nipple, stiff as a stick.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, I had a hospital visit this weekend and then came down with a bad cold.**

**Will post again very soon, and will begin to delve in the underlying mystery of our story. Cheers!**


	5. Moonlight

Chapter 5 – Moonlight

Abby slapped the side of the mass spectrometer; the lab equipment groaned angrily and spewed forth a rush of water that swirled around her platform shoes. With a huff, she put her hands on her hip and scowled.

"You see, Mister Major Malfunctioning Mass Spec, this is how bad guys get away with murder!"

She smacked the top of the machine again, but more water swirled from the machine and began to flood the lab. Knee-deep in the rapidly rising muck, she suddenly felt that there was something hinky about the whole situation. She trudged through the now chest-deep water and made her way towards the door of her lab. If she could just get it to open. . .it wouldn't budge.

Frantic, she began to pound on the door, shouting for help. "Gibbs! Tony! Ziva! Anybody!"

The water bubbled under her chin, and she stood on her tiptoes. She felt very tired. . the door wasn't budging. With a final lunge, she slammed herself against the door and screamed with all of her might: "TIM!"

"Abby! Abby! Wake up!"

Abby's eyes fluttered open, and she started coughing involuntarily, clutching at her chest. Tim wrapped his arms around her and let her cough into his shoulder. Without warning, she clasped a hand around his cheek and pulled his face down to look at her. Her eyes surveyed their surroundings, then she spoke in a low, almost threatening tone: "McGee, where are we?"

"Uh. . ." McGee glanced around them, then looked back at her. "To be honest, I'm not really sure. Somewhere in the south Pacific, I think."

To his surprise, Abby calmly nodded and picked herself up from the ground. Tim groaned inwardly to see that his jacket was pretty much ruined, but it was the only thing he had for her to lay on besides the tattered remains of their parachute. He watched Abby step a few paces away from him, spin rapidly and stalk a few paces in the other direction, her hand raised to her eyes as she peered over the edges of the cliff he had managed to land them on the day before. She turned and faced him. "Where are the others?"

Tim put his head down and stared at the ground. This was the question he had feared, and his answer was not what she wanted to hear.

"I don't know, Abby. Tony and Ziva had parachutes, I think. I never saw Gibbs or Jenny."

He glanced up in time to see her put a hand to her mouth, her eyes squeezed tightly. Tears began streaking down her cheeks and she whimpered softly. He strode quickly to her side and pulled her to him, his hand stroking her hair gently. "I'm sorry, Abby. You know they're fine, right? Nothing can hurt Gibbs." He pulled her chin up and smiled at her. She opened her eyes halfway and rubbed a hand across her eyes, smearing mascara across her face.

"It's not Gibbs I'm worried about, McGee. What about Tony and Ziva? What about Jenny? He can't possibly save them all." She rested her head on his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her waist.

Tim shrugged. Deep down, he had a feeling the others were OK, perhaps even close by.

"They're fine, Abby. I mean, we made it, didn't we?"

Abby's head shot up, a look of shock on her face. She spun away from him and walked towards the pile of fabric she had been lying in. Tim watched her bend down and examine the remains of the parachute, then she turned and looked at him with a confused expression.

"Why do we have only one parachute?"

* * *

Jenny pounded the last stick into the ground. With any luck, the wind would not pick up and the makeshift tent would stay somewhat intact. She rolled out from its confines and walked towards the moonlit beach; a blazing fire cast flickering shadows in every direction. She saw Jethro's dark form standing over it, his arms crossed and eyes on the ocean.

"I'm glad you held on to those parachutes," Jenny said softly. He turned towards her with a slight grin. "And yet you made fun of the fact you beat me to shore."

Jenny laughed. "I would have won anyways." She dropped down in front of the fire and crossed her legs in the sand. She patted a hand on the spot next to her. "Come, sit."

Jethro shook his head, smiling, then proceeded to lower his tired body to the ground without falling over. He stumbled to one side and fell over, his head landing squarely in her lap. For a moment, he just stared up at her, then started to pull himself up.

"Don't," she said, so quiet he almost missed it. He laid his head back down. She traced her fingers over his face; a thin layer of stubble had already sprung up on his jawline. She stared down at him, deep into his eyes, and he returned her gaze.

She bent low and placed a soft kiss to his lips, which quickly turned passionate. When they broke for air, he pointed skyward. She followed his aim.

The moon, massive and full, shone brilliantly on the ocean, its silver rays scattering into a million pieces across its churning surface. Memories flooded her mind.

"Just like Paris," she said. She heard him chuckle in her lap. "Too bad about rule twelve."

She looked down at him with mock scorn: "I'm not your coworker. I'm your boss."

* * *

**A/N: To make up for being late with the last one, here's another chapter.**

**I generally prefer to keep my chapters tight (but short). Sorry, it's just how I write :)**


	6. Darker Waters

Chapter 6 – Darker Waters

A strange cry broke through the stillness of morning. Tony snorted abruptly and shot his head up. The world around him was tinted in the deep blue of pre-dawn. He turned to his side and reached out for Ziva, his body deprived of her warmth. She was gone.

Now fully awake, Tony stood to his feet and began to search the beach. He cupped his hands to call her name when the cry rang out again, strangled and harsh.

"Ziva!" Tony shouted, and bolted towards a dark figure that lay curled at the foot of a sand dune.

As he came closer, he became aware of her sobbing softly and clutching fitfully at her chest. Her eyes were closed, but her face trembled.

"Tony," she said suddenly, eyes still shut tight. "Why are you here?"

Tony knelt quietly to her side, and started to answer her when she spoke again: "You should not have come."

Puzzled, Tony reached out to shake her, but she coiled herself tighter still and started to rock herself against the sand.

"Tony, you should not have come. Why did you come? Please go. . .Please!" she stammered, her voice filling with urgency. "Ziva, c'mon. . ." Tony started again, but now she was frantic, nearly screaming.

"Saleem! No! Please! God, no! Tony! I'll do anything! Anything. . .anything." Her voice dwindled to a whisper. Tony swallowed hard and tried to ignore the sickness that had settled in his stomach. She might break his arm in twenty places for doing it, but he was not going to let her nightmare continue. He cupped her face in his hands and shook her gently, calling her name as he did. "Ziva, wake up, you're OK."

Her eyes flashed open and bore into his like black fire. In an instant, she threw his hands to the ground and shoved him aside, then bolted towards a nearby rock. With it in hand, she loomed over him threateningly, a string of Hebrew dripping like venom from her lips.

"Ziva! It's me, Tony!"

At the sound of his name, recognition fluttered across Ziva's face. She dropped the rock and covered her mouth, tears beginning to streak down her face. She dropped to her knees.

With a wariness that he felt ashamed to feel, Tony crept to her side and slowly put his arms around her sob-wracked frame. At this moment, the warrior had given way to the broken soul he remembered rescuing from Somalia. In his mind, he relived the vicarious joy he felt went Gibbs' bullet tore through Saleem Ulman's head, and wondered if that had been too swift a punishment.

Ziva lifted her head up, her eyes pleading for forgiveness. He gave her a smile, telling her there was nothing to forgive. She put her hand to his cheek, then asked softly: "Tony, why are you crying?"

* * *

Leon Vance had long ago learned that his insomnia was really a blessing in disguise. More often than not, when the phone rang in the middle of a late night infomercial marathon, he could answer it before the first ring had finished sounding through his house. On this particular evening, with the brutal terrorist attack in Japan keeping him at the office long into the night, he had just stepped through the door of his home when his cell phone began to buzz.

"Vance," he answered brusquely. If he had to go back to the office, Jackie would lock him out of the house for good. The smoky voice on the other end made him snap to attention.

"Leon, this is Davenport. There's been a. . .situation."

Leon walked into his kitchen and instinctively began to hunt through the cabinets for a whiskey glass.

"And what would that be, Mr. Secretary?" A call from the Secretary of the Navy usually meant someone was being fired; or, sometimes hired, although with some ominous strings attached. He pulled a small glass from the dishwasher; it would have to do.

"Shepard's plane went down in the Pacific at o' seven twenty Zulu."

The glass slipped from his hands and shattered on the hardwood. Leon paid the mess little heed.

"Casualties?"

"At this time, we have to assume everyone on board."

Leon groaned and kicked away a shard of glass. Though they didn't always get along, Vance knew that Jenny was passionate about her agency, and never failed to see that his San Diego office had the best tools at their disposal. His life was about to get a lot more hellish.

"What are my orders, sir?" Leon was surprised to hear how begrudging his tone was, and realized with some dismay that SecNav did not fail to notice it.

"I need you to head out to D.C. tomorrow and get my agency back in order. Will there be a problem?"

Leon dismissed the question and replied firmly: "I'll be there."

"Good. Give Jackie my regards. And Leon?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Remember who you work for." The line went dead.

For a moment, Leon stood in his kitchen and leaned against the wall, a small storm of concerns starting to rise in his mind. He would have to put his office to work on the plane's disappearance and somehow investigate the terror attack in Okinawa without the agency's best team, all the while balancing a transition to power over one of the most politically fraught jobs in the entire intelligence community. He would need help.

He scrolled through the list of names in his cell, steeled himself for what was about to be a very distressing call, then dialed.

After a few rings, a genial old voice answered groggily.

"Dr. Mallard? This is Leon Vance."

* * *

**A/N: OK, I know Vance has not been universally popular as Director (I personally like him) but he's not replacing Jenny permanently in this story.**

**Besides, I need all the help I can get back at HQ to find our intrepid team. With all of the things I have scheming in the background, Jenny may be glad she got the island. :-)**


	7. Leader of Men

Chapter 7 – Leader of Men

They crowded anxiously around an ancient shortwave radio, its brittle speakers streaming a constant rush of soft noise, punctuated every few minutes by an almost unintelligible word or phrase. A few stood at a distance, weapons at the ready, eyes trained on the distant horizon. And one stood alone, his looming figure standing high above them atop a gnarled boulder. He gazed through a pair of black field binoculars, peering through the storm clouds for any sign of his prize. A distant crack of thunder was suddenly overwhelmed by the radio bursting to audible life.

"BOMB. . .HAVE TO GET. . .ALL PASS. . .ONBOARD REPEAT. . ." Two rapid bangs, then silence.

A brilliant flash of light erupted over the grey ocean, followed some seconds later by a low rumble. From it emerged a glowing streak that gradually broke into a hundred flaming pieces and a thick line of billowing, inky black smoke. A murmur of astonishment swept over the gathered crowd, but it died abruptly when the lone man raised his hand in the air. He turned back to the carnage unfolding before him and watched until all of the flaming debris had fallen to the earth below, trailing a smoldering path across the ocean and a small island some twenty miles distant.

He turned to the surrounding mass and stepped down from his exalted perch. He ran a weatherworn hand through a long, strangled mess of raven black hair, scratched at the overgrown stubble that covered his sun-drenched face, and bore his crystal blue eyes into the crowd.

"Something is wrong. The plane should not have gone down this soon." He spoke in fluid English, his voice exceptionally strong but mellow, almost serenely calm. A few whispers ran through the men, but no one ventured an answer. With a long, searching pause, the man broke the tension with a smile.

"What does it matter? We have taken the next step, my brothers! By this time tomorrow, America will shake her knees at the mention of our name! _Inzurida! Inzurida ul Tamos!_"

At the mention of their sacred nomenclature, the crowd broke into a cry of tumultuous joy. Some fired their weapons wildly into the air; others began chanting the name reverently, on their knees with their eyes downcast and hands pounding into the earth. Amidst the cacophony, their leader stood quietly in observation, eyes unfocused and mind casting about for an answer.

After nightfall, he called for two of his lieutenants to meet him in his bunker. The summoned pair met on the way and began to discuss the probable reason for their calling.

"He's going to send us after Edural, I am sure of it," said Rathos. He did his best to avoid the overgrowth that straddled their makeshift path through the dense jungle. More than a few men had succumbed to illness wrought by the myriad number of poisonous plants that littered these islands, and as a six foot six, muscular giant of a man, he had less room for error. His counterpart, Nan, had much less to worry about, as he had to take two strides to one of Rathos' just to keep pace. He barely managed to clear five feet, but had a wiry build for his size that belied his actual strength.

Nan failed to disguise the disgust in his voice: "The fool should have followed the plan, then there would have been no need to rescue him."

Rathos paused briefly, trying to ascertain in the moonlight whether the plant that had just brushed his shoulder had the telltale markings of the dread _ollileaf_. No white spider webbed lines across the leaves; he moved on.

"It was a lucky chance that he was cleared to fly the plane. Tamos must be right about the Americans. For all of their so-called security measures, they can't seem to see what is right under their noses."

Nan did not carry on the conversation, and in a few minutes they came to a clearing in the foliage with a long, low metallic green box nestled underneath a thick overhang of limestone. A camouflaged, turret-studded door lay at an angle at the side of the bunker. It opened with a low, grating noise, and a voice called them in.

Rathos squatted his massive frame as best he could and stepped down into the bunker. He shielded his eyes from the bright light that shone from a lamp on Tamos' desk. He stood resolutely and noticed with some chagrin that Nan had dismissed formality and seated himself across the room.

Tamos pulled the door shut and returned to his desk. He traced his fingers over a map stretched out before him, tapped a small dot in one corner and then glanced at the small man sitting before him.

"Nan, let Rathos have the chair," he said coolly. A flicker of protest made its way across Nan's face, but he nodded obediently and stood up. Rathos avoided his gaze as they exchanged places.

Tamos' eyes fixed upon Rathos, and the larger man begged his body not to shudder in the presence of his leader. "Our brother brought us a great victory today. In the execution of our plan, however, it seems he was unable to avoid interception. In all likelihood, he has joined the passengers of that ill-fated plane in death."

Rathos perked up at the possibility that they were not going to be sent after their missing comrade. His relief was short-lived.

"I do not want to leave any loose ends. You two will go to the neighboring islands and search for our fallen brother. If, by some miracle, he had managed to escape as was originally envisioned, then he deserves to be among his brethren once more. He will certainly be awaiting you."

"And if he is dead?" Nan asked quietly.

"Then you will have served well as reconnaissance. We must be sure no one else made it off that plane alive." Tamos stood and gave them a slight bow. "Take one of the motorboats and go. We will look forward to your return in a week."

* * *

**A/N: Just to answer a few questions before I get them: Yes, this is the terrorist group responsible. No, it's not a coincidence they are not too far from our team. Yes, things will get hairy (but exciting, I hope!) If you're wondering about the odd naming of these people, I will cover that in a later chapter (along with the meaning of **_**Inzurida**_**) and their ultimate goals. Tamos is their leader, and I hope will be a villain worthy of Gibbs' ire :)  
(Oh, and Edural is the co-pilot from Chapter 1. He's dead, obviously)**

**I will not have too many chapters focusing on the enemy, but I felt I needed to introduce them before we got too far along and forgot about the horrific attack that sparked the whole story.**

**Let me know how I'm doing! I love feedback and constructive criticism, and really just want to write the best story I can for you guys! I'll update very soon!**


	8. Not By Bread Alone

Chapter 8 – Not By Bread Alone

Tim slouched over his knees and tried to ignore his parched mouth and the rumbling of his stomach. A dull ache crept up his back from sitting so long on top of a toppled tree trunk. He glanced back to the dense jungle that Abby had disappeared into, her voice drifting in sing song tones from somewhere deep in the brush.

"Abby! I'm coming in there after you if you don't hurry up!" Tim yelled towards the jungle. She responded with a distant, rambling protest. "Don't you dare step foot in here, McGee! Do you know how many plant-based deathtraps I've found, just waiting for some naïve investigator that can't recognize poison ivy when he sees it?" Tim rolled his eyes and rested his chin in his hands. Abby continued, her voice growing gradually closer. "You would get blown up! I mean, not literally blown up, with limbs flying and brain matter scattered everywhere, but cheeks puffing out and skin bubbling and giant red rashes and. . ."

"Alright, I get it, I get it! Sheesh. . ." he muttered, and suddenly she burst forth from the foliage. Tim stood to his feet and watched her with some curiosity as she walked up to him with her hands behind her back. "You find anything? Anything edible, at least?" He tried to peek over her shoulder but she angled herself away and walked past him, grinning widely. "Maybe. . ." she intoned. She brought her hands around and held two large coconuts up to her chest.

"I've always wanted one of those half- shell tops," she said with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Tim was glad the sun had already given his face a rosy tinge, because he could feel himself blushing. He gave her a sly grin and took one of the fruits from her. "You sure they're big enough?"

Abby reached out and tapped him on the nose. "Naughty Tim."

* * *

Ziva bounded through the jungle to the constant sound of Tony's whining.

"Hungry. . .God, so hungry. . .could eat a horse. . .a whale. . .maybe even McGee's cooking."

"And what is wrong with McGee's cooking?" she asked, hoping to put a stop to his incessant rambling.

"Well, look at how much weight he's lost. . .can't be because of good food."

Ziva looked back at him and smirked. "And yet you wouldn't hurt to, how you say—lose a few pounds yourself, yes?" She stifled a laugh as his face registered mild shock.

"Uh, maybe I have? I mean, I did have a few slices of pizza too many the other night, and maybe a beer or two, and. . ."

Ziva spun suddenly, and Tony had to grab her shoulders to keep from running into her. She put a finger to his lips. "Stop."

"Stop what?" he murmured.

She traced her hand down his side until her hand rested on his stomach. His smile turned again into abrupt shock when she pinched the little layer of skin on his gut. She grinned with satisfaction, then looked him up and down.

"Where is your shirt?"

Tony stuffed a hand into his pant pocket and produced the wrinkled mass that was his dress shirt.

"It's hot, and I would kill for a shower right now."

Ziva sniffed the side of his neck and scrunched up her face. "Ugh. I would kill for you."

She resumed walking through the underbrush; Tony was about to protest her comment when he suddenly picked up on her hidden suggestion and broke into a smile.

They trekked on into the forest; Ziva tried to keep them away from the numerous plants she could not immediately recognize. Something about them made her instincts wary of their outreaching limbs and thick, splotchy leaves. A soft gurgling noise caught her attention. She motioned for Tony to hurry behind her.

They followed the noise for a half-hour, its tone steadily rising and ringing through the jungle. They scaled a small hill and came to a clearing in the brush. Ziva felt her breath catch at the sight before them: a broad, crystal blue pond that lapped gently at white sand, a thin stream snaking away in a crevice through the hill they had just climbed, and wide white-crested waterfall pouring into the pond from the base of a towering grey rock formation. Sunlight scattered across the water's surface, and a faint rainbow arched in the waterfall's mist.

Ziva felt Tony give her a nudge. He gave her his trademark smile, and spoke huskily.

"About that shower. . ."

* * *

Jethro turned his knife once more over the flames, then carefully removed the steaming hot piece of crab meat from its tip and offered it to Jenny.

"Oh, no, Jethro, I'm absolutely stuffed." She turned her attention back to the makeshift tablet of bark in her lap, a small piece of burnt wood serving for a pencil.

He grinned and popped the juicy morsel into his mouth. Some butter would have been great right about now, but for a meal in these circumstances it was hard to argue with the results. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and began to clean his blade.

She continued her calculations for a few more minutes, then set the tablet aside and sighed deeply.

He paused in his cleaning and waited for her to elaborate on her thoughts.

"We may be here for a long time," she said finally. "If I'm calculating correctly, our plane was almost seven hundred miles off course. There is no way it wasn't deliberate."

"Yeah, kinda figured that. We were vulnerable the moment we set out to investigate Okinawa."

Jethro observed a wave of emotions wash over Jenny's face. He knew how much she prided herself on the reliability of her agents, and the director-side of her struggled to reconcile the crew's betrayal.

"If you were still an agent, Jen, you'd remember that loyalty has a price. Sometimes a low one."

She gave him a sharp look. "I'm fully aware of that fact, Jethro. I work with Congress, after all."

He stifled a smirk. "Yeah, but you know you're dealing with bastards then. You don't expect the same from people that work for you."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, lost in their own thoughts as they watched the sun setting in the distance. Finally, she stood up and made her way to their unorthodox tent, a threat to be blown away any moment but enough to keep the sun and rain out. When he joined her later, she put her head on his chest and they settled down to sleep. A moment later, she whispered in the dark.

"So, what's our next step?"

"Find the rest of my team."

He felt her smile into his chest.

"I think you mean _our_ team."


	9. Recruitment

Chapter 9 – Recruitment

Devan Patel stepped out of the elevator and into the Washington, D.C. office of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. He tried to ignore the collective stares his presence attracted from the chaotic rush of people darting throughout the room, some failing to hide their suspicion of the dark-skinned Indian American donned in a charcoal gray blazer, earth-toned slacks and pair of black snakeskin boots. He tapped his "visitor" badge unconsciously and approached a tall, lanky young man dressed in pale blue medical scrubs, his attention held by a large plasma screen.

Devan coughed softly. "Excuse me, sir. I'm looking. . ."

The man spun around suddenly, a look of dismay quickly replaced with a tired but sincere friendliness.

"Oh, I'm sorry. . .I was just. . .well, the news," he stammered, then refocused his attention to the television's montage of photos that cycled over a scrolling line of text: 8 MISSING FROM FEDERAL AGENCY FLIGHT. A photo appeared of a smiling red-haired woman that Devan recognized as NCIS Director Jenny Shepard. He swallowed hard at the realization that he was not about to meet with the woman he had regarded as a personal hero, but her successor.

"Tragic, isn't it?" the man shrugged, then turned and offered his hand to Devan. "Jimmy Palmer, Assistant Medical Examiner."

Devan shook it without hesitation. "Devan Patel. Unemployed."

Jimmy forced a grin and gave him a small slap on the shoulder. "Looking a job? I think you want to start downstairs with Human Resources."

"Actually, I have a meeting with the Director." Devan said politely.

Jimmy gave him a puzzled look. "You mean they've already got a replacement? Of all the lowdown, dirty and. . ."

". . .prudent things, Mr. Palmer." A powerfully built African American man in a navy blue suit walked up behind Jimmy, a look of stern amusement playing on his face.

He turned to Devan. "Leon Vance. Are you Devan Patel?"

"I am, sir."

Leon turned back to Jimmy, and the smile faded. "How is Dr. Mallard?"

To his credit, Jimmy masked his embarrassment and answered with a defeated shrug. "I'll be honest, sir. He's not doing too well. He let me do most of the work today, and left much earlier than usual."

"That's understandable, considering what he may have lost yesterday. You were friends with most of the team yourself, if I'm not mistaken."

Jimmy snapped his head up and glared at the insinuation. "They were all my friends. They _are_ all my friends, and I won't say differently until they're lying downstairs on a steel table!" He spat out the last words in quiet defiance. Leon eyed him closely, and put a hand to his shoulder. "I would expect nothing less."

Jimmy extended his hand once more. "Good luck, Devan." He faced Leon again. "Director," he paused for a beat, then headed towards the elevator. "I'll be in autopsy."

Devan watched him go with some trepidation; when he turned back, Leon was already walking up the stairs towards a wide metal door with large black letters posted overhead: MTAC. He turned back to Devan and motioned towards a door off to the side of the upper floor. "I believe we have a meeting, Mr. Patel."

He was ushered quickly past a cute, curly-haired secretary. He managed to catch a glimpse of the nameplate on the desk: Cynthia Sumner. He'd have to remember that. She shut the door behind him as soon as he was in the room, and Devan cautiously stepped towards the broad mahogany desk, behind which sat the new director of NCIS.

Leon motioned to a chair in front of his desk, which Devan settled into and crossed a leg over his knee. An awkward silence persisted for a moment as Leon looked over a file in front of him, then set it aside and locked his dark brown eyes directly on Devan.

"Cowboy boots?"

"Er—what?"

Leon pointed to Devan's outstretched shoe.

"Oh, right! Sorry. I—uh— just like the look of boots. Don't even own anything else." He laughed, conscious of the nervousness seeping through his voice.

Leon lifted an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair.

"Frankly, I don't give a damn if you wear floppy red clown shoes, as long as you are as good as I've been told. Scratch that—I do care, but I might turn a blind eye to it."

Devan bit his lip for a second and mustered his confidence. "I am the best, sir. There isn't a network on earth I can't infiltrate."

Leon tapped his desk with a much-chewed toothpick, his eyes never leaving Devan.

"First off, leave your sirs for the elderly. Second, you need to be aware that your actions in the intelligence community are more widely known than you think. If you come onboard here, you only play for one team, understood?"

"Yes, sir. I mean, yes—just yes."

"If you're half as good as two of the agents we just lost I'll be happy. I have others working on this case but something tells me we could use some help. And, Patel, you better be prepared to do more than desk work."

Devan leaned forward. "I just want a chance to use my skills for good for a change."

Leon smirked. "Or maybe you're just concerned that the FBI's really interested in you as well."

Devan shrugged and stood to his feet. "If that's how you feel, then it doesn't matter what I say."

The director looked down at the dossier in front of him then glanced up at the man before him. He stood up, put one hand behind his back and pointed one at Devan.

"You're going to report directly to me. As far as the rest of this agency is concerned, you don't exist. As far as data goes, we have only one link to this terrorist group, and it might as well be smoke for what its worth. I need you to find the people responsible for attacking this country and for possibly assassinating the director of this agency. Can I count on you?"

Devan did his best to stifle the surge of excitement he felt: "Yes."


	10. Wounds That Bind

Chapter 10 – Wounds That Bind

Tony watched the firelight dance across his partner's sleeping form, her chest rising and falling softly in the shadow of his arms. The faint scent of smoke that wafted through the night air smelled slightly of bananas, their dark green peels burning amongst the ashes. Ziva had found them earlier that day while Tony swam circles around the waterfall, relishing the feeling of cleanliness again. He felt slightly odd about being naked in the water, as if the surrounding jungle disapproved of his hairy visage. To his surprise and belated disappointment, Ziva kept her eyes averted from him when she returned until he pulled his still damp jeans and shirt back on. He thought about calling her out on her newfound shyness when she distracted him with the literal fruits of her labor and his stomach dismissed all other thoughts from his mind. But now they had returned, and kept him awake as she slept soundly beside him.

He heard her breath catch briefly, then a faint flutter crossed her lips. He pushed himself up slightly and watched her intently. Her eyes began to dance under her eyelids, flickering wildly, and a quiet moan emerged from her lips. The nightmares were returning.

With more force than he intended, Tony shook her awake. Her eyes flew open wildly, but she did not panic like she had earlier that morning.

"Tony. . ." she groaned softly. Tony sat up fully and took her hand in his. "Ziva, we need to talk."

She laid her head back down and stared into the sky. "No, we do not." The tone of her voice chilled him.

He tried to mask the stubbornness in his response. "Yes, we _do_."

She rolled to her side facing away from him, staring deep into the fire. "Please, Tony, let's just go back to sleep."

Tony swallowed hard and forced himself to be resolute in the face of her plea. He pulled himself behind her and began to softly stroke her side. He groaned inwardly when he felt her flinch at his touch.

"What can I do to help you, sweet cheeks?" He emphasized his pet name for her in a bid to break the growing tension. Her answer broke his heart.

"Nothing. There is nothing you can do."

"I can't accept that, Ziva."

She suddenly spun towards him, anger flaring across her face. "Why can't you! Must you fix me? Am I broken, Tony?" She sat up and stabbed her finger into his chest, tears threatening to burst from her eyes. She dropped her head down into her hands and pleaded softly with him.

"What am I to you, Tony? What do you want from me?"

Tony had never before felt the emotion that swept over him now. Not with the decades of rejection from his father, the disastrous ending of his relationship with Jeanne, nor even when he thought Ziva had died on the Damocles. His heart was tearing itself apart in his chest, and four years of roiling emotions came to a head. He brought his lips close to her ear and spoke softly: "I want to love you, Ziva."

For a moment, the only sound was of the waterfall crashing into the water below and the soft crackle of the fire. Ziva lifted her head up and Tony saw the fire's flames reflected in her eyes.

"Do you?" she asked hesitantly.

Tony let a smile break across his face. "With everything I am."

Ziva dropped her eyes again, a faint smile spreading across her face. Her next words cut through him like a white hot knife.

"Tony. . .I am terrified of loving you." She put her hands in his and squeezed gently. "I cannot be a fling."

Tony swallowed hard and pushed back the lump developing in his throat. "OK, Ziva. . .I earned that. . ."

"No!" she said abruptly. She took his hands and placed them around her back, then took his face in her hands. "No. I am so sorry, Tony. You did not deserve that." She placed a light kiss on his cheeks. "You willed me to life from across the world. You came for me, even when you thought I was dead. You came for me, Tony. You came. . ."

Her words were swallowed as their lips joined and evolved into a ferocious kiss. He swept her from the ground and stood to his feet, his eyes dark and intense. He laid her across a long flat boulder that hugged the pond's edge. She pulled him down to her and caressed his lips lightly with hers before plunging her tongue into his mouth. His shirt long gone, he began to remove hers when she stopped suddenly and clutched at the fabric.

"I'm sorry, Tony. I—I can't do this." She started to pull away from him, but he refused to let her go.

"Ziva, please. Don't go, we don't have to continue."

She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face away. "I'm sorry. . .it's just too soon."

Tony swallowed hard and rubbed his hand along Ziva's back, then stopped when his fingers rubbed across a small bump in her skin. She sat as still as a stone as he lifted the back of her shirt. The moonlight cast an eerie glow across her skin, but perfectly illuminated the spider webbed pattern of scars that raced angrily across her back. Tony felt his skin burn in rage at the thought that Saleem had done this to her.

"See, Tony. I _am_ broken. How could you love a broken woman?" Tony blanched at the calm acceptance in her voice. He pulled the rest of her shirt off without protest and put both of his hands on her shoulders. He nuzzled her ear softly with his nose. "You are _beautiful_, Ziva."

Her protest was silenced by the sensation of his lips softly grazing her back. Everywhere he saw a scar, Tony planted a gentle kiss and whispered the word "beautiful" until it became a quiet chant ringing musically in her ears. She shuddered underneath his touch, months of loathing and pity slowly being drawn up through her skin like venom from a wound.

When he finally finished, Tony sat up and turned her to face him. "You, Ziva David, are beautiful. As long as there is a part of me left to love you, I will love you with all of it."

For the first time in what seemed like forever, a smile, _her_ smile, broke across her face and ended in a kiss.

"I love you too, Anthony Dinozzo."


	11. Gimme Shelter

Chapter 11 – Gimme Shelter

Jethro moved swiftly through the forest, casting a few glances behind him every now and then to reassure himself of Jenny's presence. He couldn't help but grin inwardly at the sound of her hard but steady breathing; he was impressed that she still retained her formidable stamina from her days as an agent, even if she still hadn't quite figured out how to pace herself. At the pace they had been keeping since they left the shore behind early that morning, he figured they had covered nearly ten miles through the thick underbrush in about three hours. He had kept them within viewing distance of the ocean so they would not have too much trouble backtracking by the shoreline if necessary, but the only immediate goal in his mind was to find out the fate of his team.

He saw a tall boulder emerging from the ground a few paces ahead, and resolved to scale it and see if he could get a better idea of their surroundings from its vantage point. He started moving towards it.

"Jethro, stop!"

Jethro stumbled and spun around to see Jenny staring past him, her face frozen in horror. She quickly caught up to him and started to pull him back from his intended destination.

"Ollileaf," she whispered, pointing to a thick tendril of dark green leaves that draped the ground surrounding the rock, each leaf colored with a pale white mesh across their broad surface.

He gave her a mystified glare, to which she responded heatedly. "One graze against that plant, Jethro, and you will relive the most horrific moments of your life repeatedly for thirty-six hours straight. That plant is one of the most potent neurotoxins ever discovered."

"Why the hell have I never heard of it, Jen?" Jethro tried to keep the angry edge out of his voice, but the idea of him remembering Shannon and Kelly's death over made it spill over. She gave him a sympathetic smile. "Because it was discovered only a few years ago and is still highly classified. I only learned about it during the Seoul incident last year."

Jethro recalled the news report of a smuggling ship found off the coast of South Korea, the crew burned alive along with a few grunts onboard moonlighting as security. He stared at the plant incredulously. "You mean to tell me that thing made U.S. Marines set themselves on fire?"

Jenny stepped a few paces ahead of him and motioned for him to follow her well away from its outstretched grasp. "That was the diluted, airborne form of it, Jethro."

They continued for several more miles with her leading the way. He remained lost in his thoughts, a thousand new worries racing through his mind with the very grave possibility that if any of his team was still alive, they were mere steps away from danger. Daylight had begun to wane when something caught his eye deep within the forest. He called to Jenny and pointed to a wide, squat shape rising up from the ground, a metallic gleam showing on one corner of it where sunlight managed to break through the jungle canopy. He warily followed her steps as they approached the mysterious shape. His eyes traced the edge of the object, a faint sense of recognition starting to come together in his mind. They were only a few feet away when he realized with some surprise that it was the partially intact shell of a World War Two-era bomber, a B-29 Superfortress if his father's description of them applied to this ruined hulk.

A gaping hole extended along the side of the wreck where the wing had broken off and taken parts of the cabin with it. Jenny looked intently for any sign of the ollileaf vine near the stricken plane, but did not see its telltale markings. She disappeared through the opening in its side, then reappeared a few minutes later and motioned for Jethro to follow her.

The inside of the plane exemplified decay: a mass of broken crates lay strewn about the rusted floor, their haphazard contents covering almost every inch of it. Hundreds of old tins, their labels faded or missing, surrounded several dented barrel drums with their tops still sealed.

Jenny put a hand to Jethro's shoulder and gave him a smile. "C'mon, let's settle down for the night."

* * *

Abby could not stand to watch any longer. She strode from her perch underneath a towering palm tree to the edge of the shore, her bare feet sinking into the mud. Her eyes remained transfixed on McGee's distant form tugging a piece of the plane's wreckage to shore through the rough waves, his shirtless, newly-lean body taking on the smallest hints of muscle tone, a thin sheen of sweat glowing in the sunlight. Excited shivers ran up her back the more she watched him, oblivious as he was to her lingering gaze. He half-swam, half-pulled the floating sheet of plastic to shore, seemingly surprised to find her waiting for him on the beach.

"Looks like this came from the conference room," he said, motioning to a somewhat charred grey 10-foot square panel. He slid his prize from the water and across the sand and dropped it safely out of the tide's reach. He dropped to the ground with an exhausted sigh, propped himself up on his elbows and gave her a curious glance. "I thought you wanted to stay out of the sun."

Abby smiled primly in reply and showed him a long, thick branch with fabric wrapped tightly around one half of it. She held it upside down and loosed a knot that held the fabric together, which tumbled down and formed a wide circle around the end of the branch, itself rimmed with a spoke of smaller sticks. She made a small knot around their base, flipped her new parasol onto her shoulder and gave it a celebratory twirl. "I'm good," she said, and reveled in McGee's astonished expression.

"You never cease to amaze me, Abby."

She sat next to him on the sand and shared the umbrella's shadow with him. "Well, Timmy, for my next trick we will need one very handsome federal agent." His eyebrows perked up in response. "We?"

"OK, just me," she said, then gave him a knowing wink. "Know anyone like that?"

He feigned deep thought. "Depends. What exactly will this 'trick' involve?"

Abby leaned closer to him, her voice low and dark: "Oh, nothing really. . ."

Their lips came together for a kiss that seemed to last for hours, alternating between soft nips and deeper embraces. When they finally broke apart, she gave him a mischievous grin. "So, are you building us a hut with all of this material you're collecting?"

He rolled his eyes and nodded his head towards the panel lying in the sand. "Only if I find twenty more of those."


	12. Trace Elements

Chapter 12 – Trace Elements

Devan Patel stared into the abyss, and the abyss went to screensaver.

He rubbed his bleary eyes, glanced around the darkened NCIS squadroom and tried to ignore the fact that it was nearly four in the morning. He tapped his mouse; the computer's screensaver was replaced by an impenetrable wall of data, the result of hours of mind-numbing work.

Vance had not exaggerated the tenuous nature of their link to whatever faction attacked Okinawa: a lone IP address that merely proved to be a stepping stone to hundreds of servers across the globe, each one devoid of any trace of infiltration. Devan had spent most of the afternoon sifting through cached versions of the MCAS Futenma employee records, but only managed to get through the first two hundred out of over four thousand active records. He didn't want to imagine going through the inactive list; it was nearly twenty times larger. His stomach growled audibly.

He stood up, stretched, nearly broke his jaw yawning, then trudged slowly to the NCIS vending machines. For a moment, he stood in the dark and assessed his snacking options. He was reaching into his jacket for his wallet when a hand slammed the top of the vending machine next to him. Jimmy Palmer gave him a brief smile then watched a chocolate bar tumble from one of the vending trays into the dispenser below.

"Friend of mine showed me how to do that," he said wistfully, then popped a piece of the chocolate into his mouth.

"Handy trick," said Devan, his breathing a bit unsteady. "You scared the crap out of me."

"Sorry, couldn't resist. You were spaced out there for a while. I figured you could use the adrenaline."

"Well, at least I'm awake now. Why are you here so late. . .or early?"

Jimmy swallowed the last of the chocolate bar. "I've had to work alone the past two days. Fallen a bit behind." He crumpled the candy wrapper into a ball and shot for a trashcan sitting in the corner. It bounced off the back of the wall and dropped into the canister, to which he responded with an audible groan.

"What? You made it," said Devan. He pulled a cinnamon roll from the vending machine.

Jimmy shrugged. "Yeah, I did. It figures I'd pull it off once Tony's not here to bet me on it."

"Agent Dinozzo? What was he like?" Jimmy gave him an odd look, to which Devan hastily added, "I'd just like to learn more about the team. I think if I had a better idea of who they are I would have a better chance finding them."

"Finding them? If Vance is right they're bloated corpses floating around the Pacific by now."

Devan held his tongue for a moment, weighing whether he was allowed to divulge the information he had been privy to earlier that day. He went with his instincts.

"They can't find the wreck." Devan's words lingered in the room, and Jimmy's sour mood dissolved into astonishment.

"You mean there were no bodies?"

"No. There was no _plane_. I was meeting with the director when he got footage from the search team tracking their last location. There wasn't a piece of wreckage in the area for almost thirty miles. It's like they disappeared in some western version of the Bermuda Triangle."

Jimmy ran a hand through his hair, confusion writ on his brow. "That doesn't mean they're alive. It just means they're searching in the wrong spot."

Devan's response died on his lips as his mind ground to a halt, sudden realization dawning over him. He tossed the last of his cinnamon roll in the trash and rushed back to his desk, Jimmy following fast behind. The computer sprang back to life and he started typing furiously.

"What? What did you think of?" Jimmy said, a flicker of hope coloring his voice.

"It was a federal plane, newly refitted for NCIS. The location beacon was tied to the onboard computers and routed through the Internet via satellite. Our only piece of evidence in Okinawa is an IP address logged by the base website. Someone used it to run a port scan on their system."

"OK, pretend that I'm a medical examiner, not a hacker."

A blue alert popped up on Devan's screen. A wide grin stole over his face.

"The beacon's signal was intercepted over the Internet. Whoever used this IP was covering up the plane's real location. It could be anywhere out there."

He looked up at Jimmy with a serious but hopeful expression. "They could still be alive."

Jimmy clapped his hands on Devan's shoulders and shook him. They broke into a laugh that was only interrupted by the ding of the elevator. The slightly bowed form of an elder gentleman stepped out, his eyes piercing behind thin spectacles, and an air of quiet dignity about his presence.

"Dr. Mallard!" Jimmy started towards his mentor but was abruptly interrupted. "Mr. Palmer, I'm afraid I am perplexed by your happiness so soon after our shared grief."

Devan swallowed hard at the insinuation cast yet again at Jimmy that he did not care about the loss of the MCRT, but was astonished at his gentle reply. "I'm sorry, Doctor, it's just—we," and at this he gestured towards Devan, "think they might still be alive!"

The elderly medical examiner's face softened and his brows furrowed. "How so? Please explain."

Devan stood from his seat and extended a hand to Dr. Mallard. "Devan Patel, sir. What Jimmy means is that I've found evidence that the plane's location beacon was manipulated to make it seem the plane was flying a certain route to Tokyo. It may be that they were redirected elsewhere. There may not have been a crash at all."

Dr. Mallard gave him a hearty handshake, the possibility of hope spurring new life into his limbs. He turned to Jimmy with an apologetic look. "Jimmy, I'm sorry, my dear boy."

Jimmy gave him a belated smile and shrugged. "It's OK, doctor. I know they were my friends, and that's what matters."

The doctor nodded and patted the side of Jimmy's arm. "Yes. Yes, it does."

An uncomfortable silence ensued for a moment, until Devan spoke up: "You know, I hope someday I will be missed as much as you two miss your friends. My cat would just put an ad in the paper for 'can opener operator.'"


	13. Belly of the Beast

Chapter 13 – Belly of the Beast

Ziva woke to an unfamiliar sensation. For the first time in over a year, she did not feel a sticky sheen of cold sweat covering her skin, nor stabs of pain shooting through her tired muscles. A sense of warmth enveloped her despite the crispness in the air; a strong but gentle arm draped over her side, as if to shield her from her nightmares. She could feel Tony's soft breath tickling the back of her neck, accompanied by a low snore. She pulled his arm tighter to her chest and turned her thoughts to the previous night.

Tony had told her the words she had longed to hear: he loved her. He did not give her conditions for his love, nor did he retreat at the sight of her wounds; instead, he had caressed them, kissed them, as if the fact that they were a part of her somehow made them beautiful. _He truly refuses to see the bad in me_.

Her mind twisted through the long list of men that had been in her life, starting with her father and ending with Rivkin. All of them had used her for their own ends; all of them abandoned her when they no longer needed her. And yet here, holding on to her as if she was the most precious thing in his world, lay a skirt-chasing, move-quoting playboy investigator who refused to let her leave him, putting his career and life on the line to avenge her presumed death. She could not find a word in any language to describe his actions: _love_ seemed inadequate, almost mocking. This was something more.

"Ziva, you think too loud."

She was taken aback by his sudden non-sequitur; suppressing a smile, she rolled over to face him. "What do you mean, Tony?"

He grinned widely, his eyes still half-closed as he struggled to wake up. "I mean—" he started, then broke into a long yawn. He shook his head and started blinking rapidly. "I mean, you've been laying here for the last twenty minutes sighing like McGee on Valentine's."

Ziva narrowed her eyes. "Perhaps I have a lot on my mind."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Anything on your mind that should be on mine?"

She smirked and pulled herself closer to him, her lips tantalizingly close to his. "Maybe. Maybe I was just thinking of what I could do to you while you slept."

His eyes opened wide. "Depending on what it is, I might not protest when I'm awake."

She laughed. "Oh no, I am not going to give you anything to whine about all day." She gave him a quick kiss, stood to her feet, then starting walking towards the pond, intent on a morning bath.

Tony felt his face fall as he watched her go. "You know, I might whine about not having anything to whine about!"

She turned back to reply, but froze when a sudden scream echoed through the jungle.

* * *

Tim trudged wearily through the forest, adjusting his jacket-turned-makeshift-duffel-bag every so often in an attempt to soothe his aching back. He kept an eye on Abby's animated form as she blazed a trail through the undergrowth with her frighteningly large machete. Where she kept that ode to Rule Nine hidden on her person escaped him; in fact, he thought he might not want to know. She insisted, however, in his following her every footstep all because he once forgot what poison ivy looked like and broke out with hideous red splotches all across his face. Tony never failed to remind him of it, and now Abby refused to believe he had learned his lesson. Oh well, at least Tony wasn't here to bring it up _again._

"Tim, are you even listening to me?" Abby had stopped abruptly in front of him, and pointed her knife blade towards him for emphasis.

"Uh, yeah. I mean, kinda—well, no, not really."

She scrunched up her face in displeasure. "I didn't think so." She turned back around and started hacking through the bush again. "I was saying, McGee, that we could totally pull a _Swiss Family Robinson_ and build treehouses to live in." She paused again, spreading her hands wide against the sky.

"Just think: a palm-thatched mansion in the trees, with wooden bridges linking room to room. No way for lions and tigers and bears to get us up there."

"Abby, I highly doubt any of those creatures are native to this island."

She looked at him and rolled her eyes.

"What? What did I say?" He raised his arms in protest. She groaned and resumed cutting through the forest. "Nothing, Tim. Sometimes, you need to be more imaginative and spontaneous, and less brainy."

It was his turn to roll his eyes, which fixed briefly on an odd lump of mangled bones barely hidden in the grass. He thought to say something about it, but wanted clear up her misconception about him first.

"I'll have you know I can be very spontaneous if I need to be," he protested.

She laughed. "I'd like to see that."

On a whim, Tim bounded up behind her, knocked her machete from her hand, whipped her around in his arms and pulled them both to the ground. She bit back a surprised yell as he gave her a dazzling smile, then leaned down and kissed her deeply. She couldn't help but grin when they pulled apart, her eyes lingering on his gaze until a scaly black head appeared over his shoulder, spread its blood-tinged mouth open wide and roared.

The look of terror that gripped Abby's face alerted Tim to his sudden danger before he heard the harsh cry that erupted in his ear. He dove to her side and instinctively put a hand up to shield her should the creature lunge for her. His mind scrambled to comprehend what this beast could possibly be: it was nearly fifteen feet long, with a massive, barrel-shaped torso covered in quarter-sized diamond shaped scales, a long, snaking tail that whipped powerfully in the air, and a wide-mouthed, bloody-toothed head that reminded Tim of the infamous Tyrannosaurus Rex. Unfortunately, failure to identify the threat did nothing to minimize its intentions: it burst towards him with stupefying speed. Tim screamed to Abby: "Run!"

She scrambled away from the creature but did not leave Tim out of sight. She circled around the two warily, hand covering her mouth and tears welling up in her eyes. She cried out to him. "Tim! Get up! Get up, please!"

Tim barely slipped from the creature's lunging grasp, stumbling forward on his knees as he tried to pull himself up from the ground. The beast followed hard after him, strangled grunts and roars emerging from its throat. Tim managed to get on two feet when he felt a sudden jolt rip through the back of his leg, his lower body crumpling underneath him. He lost his breath when his back landed with a thud on the hard ground. In a flash, the monster was on him, its razor-sharp claws digging through his shirt and threatening to tear through his skin. Its yellow, slitted eyes bore into his, then it plunged its head down towards his throat.

He shoved his arm into the creature's mouth, pushing back as it tried to snap its jaw shut around his neck. Pain burst throughout his body as meat-rending teeth sunk down on his forearm. Gathering his strength, he balled his other hand into a fist and swung for the monster's eye. It loosened its hold and gave a startled cry as he pounded furiously at the vulnerable orb. In retaliation, the beast resumed its bite, and Tim could feel his bones about to break in the vice-like pressure.

Suddenly, the creature was flung from him, crashing wildly into the brush. A vaguely familiar face looked down at him as his rescuer stepped over his body and started to hurriedly pull him up from the ground.

"C'mon, McGee! We've got to McMove it!"

Tim had a million questions run through his head but decided to skip them all in favor of getting as far away from that _thing_ as he could. He allowed his good arm to be draped over Tony's shoulders as his friend gingerly but urgently pulled him away from the site of his attack.

Abby stalked to the spot where Tim had made her drop her machete. Pulling it from the dirt, she stomped back to where she had seen the creature land when Tony kicked it off McGee. Anger flashed through her when she saw that the beast had disappeared. Ziva came quietly to her side.

"He could have died, Ziva." Abby turned to her friend and reached out for a hug. Ziva pulled the trembling woman close. "You would have saved him, Abby. Do not doubt yourself."

Ziva could feel Abby shudder in her arms as she sobbed. "You don't know that! I completely froze! If you guys hadn't still been alive and I didn't find my knife, that—that MONSTER—would have killed Tim!"

Ziva broke from Abby's grasp and put a hand to her cheek. "Abby, listen to me. Tim will be fine. You never fail to do what you have to." She gave her a small smile. "If we had found you two a few minutes later, you would have had that thing stuffed like a curtain."

Abby broke into a sniffling laugh. "Pillow, Ziva. Stuffed like a pillow."

*** * ***

**For the curious among you, the beast was a Komodo Dragon (slightly larger than the average one, of course). And yes, they do eat people.**

**On another note, you guys have been terrific readers. I am having a blast telling this story, and hope you continue to have fun reading it!**


	14. Connecting Memories

Chapter 14 – Connecting Memories

Jenny swept the last remnants of debris from the ruptured fuselage of the crippled plane, tossed aside her makeshift broom and contemplated her overwhelming desire for a drink. They had yet to find any fresh water on this island, and the onsetting headache and parchness of her mouth unsettled her. Strong hands laid rest on her shoulders, and a warm voice spoke into her ear.

"C'mon, Jen. Let's find a bucket."

"And why, might I ask, do we need one?" She turned to face Jethro, eyebrows curled in confusion. He tapped his right shoulder with his left hand and gave her a broad smile. "Remember when I dislocated my shoulder a few months ago?"

"When Daniel Sturgis tried to kill you and McGee with his car?"

"Yeah. Been able to predict the weather ever since. It's going to rain soon, and a lot of it."

Without another word, she bounded past him into the downed plane and started rummaging through the mass of World War II-era supplies they had spent all afternoon sorting through. There were tattered burlap sacks emptied of their long-rotten contents, an assortment of disfigured rifles and discolored knives, some boxes of various ammunitions, crates full of still-sealed tins with faded labels, and a few barrels lined against the wall, their contents unknown for the moment. She pulled aside one crate that contained various articles of clothing and picked out a round, bowl-shaped helmet with a mesh of leaves covering its top. She flipped it over and presented it to Jethro with a grin. "I call dibs on the first drink."

Jethro reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver flask. "Just leave me enough for a refill."

The rain began as a gentle drizzle, but soon devolved in a torrential sheets that rattled the derelict's hull, accompanied by gusts of wind that swirled throughout the cabin. Her thirst sated, Jenny pulled a few of the better-smelling sacks from their pile. Jethro sat down and leaned against the back wall, then motioned for her to sit with him. She leaned her back against his chest, draped the sacks over them both to stem the wind's chill bite, and together they watched storm clouds race across the grey sky.

For a few moments, the only sound was the drumming patter of rain and blustery wind. Jenny let her mind wander to the friends she feared lost. An unsettled thought grew out of her commiserations, pushing against her better judgment.

"Jethro, has Tony ever forgiven me, for Jeanne?" She spoke so quietly that for a moment she wondered if the wind had swallowed her words up, but a moment later Jethro murmured his response.

"Not my place to say, Jen."

"You know him better than anyone. I needed La Grenouille, and Dinozzo was willing to step up and take him on." She turned and looked up into his face. He gave her a stony gaze, the one she recognized as his way of warning her not to continue the topic. She pressed on, anger tinting her words. "You haven't forgiven me either, have you? Please, speak your mind, Gibbs."

"Jenny, it's in the past. I left it there, and Dinozzo did the same. He saved your life, remember?"

A tangle of memories stirred through her: a funeral, a Russian woman hellbent on vengance, the code "Oshimeida," her call to Gibbs' former boss, Mike Franks, and Tony and Ziva's fortunate appearance at a derelict diner to even the odds against a group of hitmen. She would have likely died there, retribution for a mission failed 9 years before and a continent away. And yet Tony was there at her side, with Ziva at his, rescuing her from her own suicide. The fallout had been brutal: Senate hearings, an unpublicized suspension, and for a few months the near disbandment of Jethro's team. When she finally demonstrated that concerns of her health and sanity were overblown, and called in nearly every favor available to her, she was reinstated on the condition that she successfully remove a mole that had infiltrated the agency.

"Jen?" The concern in Jethro's voice brought her back to him.

"Sorry, Jethro. You're right, it's in the past." She laid her head against his chest, sighed heavily, then said: "I just hope I can be there for them too."

* * *

Tony's lungs burned as he struggled to half-support, half-drag Tim's weakening form through the forest. The wind was picking up quickly, a distant rumble of thunder warning him of their predicament. With a burst of speed, he pulled the stricken agent up a low hill then sat him down on a boulder overlooking the pond he and Ziva had discovered earlier.

"Oh, look, a waterfall!" Tim said in a failing attempt to stay cheerful. He gingerly touched at his mangled arm, dark red streaks of blood dripping from gashes across his forearm.

"Alright, McGee, you're gonna see exactly how much I like you," Tony said. He folded his still-white designer dress shirt into a long, thick bandage, and began to circle it around Tim's wounds.

Tim swallowed hard as a surging headache began to cloud his vision. "Thanks, Tony. I mean it."

Tony tied the fresh bandage into a tight knot and gave Tim a reassuring smile. "Look, McDragonslayer, I'm not going to let you leave me on this island with those two crazy chicks."

Tim forced himself to laugh. "Dragonslayer? You got him off of me. I couldn't even reach for my knife."

"Semantics! He was practically begging to get away. Now lay down a bit and listen to the waterfall. I need to see where those two got off to." But Tim had already slumped over, a look of deep pain etched on his face.

Tony shook his head and stood up. He felt the first drop of rain, then a second, then more rapidly until the crash of the waterfall was drowned out by the rush of rain. A voice called to him.

"Tony, get over here!"

Tony wiped the rain from his eyes and staggered towards the voice. A hand appeared from the side of the waterfall's base, followed by Ziva's animated form. "Grab Tim and hurry over here!"

Tony hurried to his friend's side, groaned inwardly at the task in front of him, and pulled Tim's sleeping form up onto his shoulder. He staggered a bit, let out an angry yell, then stumbled toward the spot where Ziva disappeared into the hillside. As he turned the corner, a black gulf revealed itself in the side of the rock, just barely big enough for him to squeeze through.

He stepped down through the hole, stubbed his foot on an unseen rock and pitched forward.

"Careful, Tony!" said two voices in unison as hands emerged from the darkness to hold him up.

"Trying," he groaned as he sat Tim's limp form against the cavern wall. His eyes gradually adjusted to the dim light, and he could see Abby working quickly with the bandage he had put on Tim's wounds.

She stammered rapidly: "I found a few _epimedium_ plants outside. It's one of the best natural antibiotics in the world. I just hope it will be enough."

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "Please let it be enough," she prayed, then began to trace a thin paste over the wounds.

"Enough for what?" Tony looked over to Ziva's darkened face. She stared blankly at Tim, then turned to Tony and gave him a grim stare. "That was a Komodo Dragon, Tony. They have one of the deadliest bites in the world, from the virulent strains of bacteria that inhabit their mouths."

Tony looked back at his wounded friend. The cold, wet air that filled the cavern gave him a paler look than normal in the darkness, and Abby curled herself around him, seemingly trying to will strength into him. Tim seemed to be caught in a deepening nightmare, pained expressions rapidly alternating on his face.

Ziva draped her arms over him and rested her head on his shoulder. "He will be alright, Tony. We all will."

Tony squeezed her hand gently. "I know, Ziva. I know."

* * *

**Sorry for the long delay. I got sick earlier this week and couldn't get the energy to stay awake, much less write. I'm feeling better now :)**

**On whether Komodo dragons eat people, this particular breed formed in a different environment, one that allowed them to be larger and more aggressive than the real thing. And it's a bit of artistic license, of course.**


	15. To New Acquaintances

Chapter 15 – To New Acquaintances

Mallard Manor had a certain regal, yet homely, air that seemed to reflect the paradox that was its master. Despite Devan's gentle protests that he truly could not manage another bite, Dr. Mallard insisted on replenishing his thrice-emptied fine china plate with yet another helping of mashed potatoes smothered in white gravy. That this scion of the Scottish lords had the charm, hospitality, and dinner table befitting a Southern gentleman only served to heighten the mystery surrounding the medical examiner.

"It's not often I have the opportunity to entertain new acquaintances, my dear lad. Would you like another slice of roast beef?" The doctor held out a piece of the tender meat with a pair of silver tongs. Devan gave Jimmy Palmer a quick glance, hoping his eyes relayed his desperation.

Jimmy spoke up: "Actually, doctor, I would like another piece. If Devan does not mind, of course."

Devan did his best to hide his relief. "Oh, absolutely not, please. Three's the limit for me," he said with a grateful smile. He rubbed at his swollen stomach and wondered if it was actually possible to burst one's abdomen. _Better not risk it._

Dr. Mallard shrugged and put the roast in Jimmy's plate. He turned back to Devan. "I am glad you accepted my invitation to dinner, Mr. Patel. I must admit, however, that I am still curious about your strong protest against my initial suggestion for a vegetarian dinner, one more befitting the Indian culture."

Devan shifted a little nervously. "To be honest, I think I would die of starvation if I couldn't get a meat lover's pizza at least three times a week."

Jimmy laughed. "You and Tony probably could keep an entire pizza parlor in business."

The doctor began clearing the table. "Not the most sensible meal choice, but certainly one that our dear Dinozzo would appreciate."

Devan scarfed down the rest of his plate's contents, then jumped to his feet and offered to help.

"Nonsense; please, sit and make certain Mr. Palmer does not fall asleep at the table. Again."

Jimmy shot his head up, fork halfway to his mouth. "That only happened once, doctor!"

The doctor grinned widely. "And yet, my dear boy, it happened. I'll only be a moment." He disappeared into the kitchen, tableware in hand.

Devan settled back into his chair and stifled a yawn, to which Jimmy responded with one of his own.

"If you keep that up, we're both going to be conked out when he gets back," said Jimmy, then grinned widely. "So, I'm practicing my interrogation techniques. Tell me about yourself."

Devan felt his face register his confusion. "Uh, telling your target that he's being interrogated probably isn't most effective way to start out." Jimmy coughed apologetically. "Sorry, I'm just curious."

With a shrug, Devan leaned back in his chair. "Let's see. Parents moved from Agra to Detroit before I was born. Went to Michigan, majored in Computer Science. Postgrad at Berkley in Cryptography. Recruited to the Treasury Department, and worked there for six years. And now I'm here."

"Impressive, Mr. Patel," said Dr. Mallard as he returned to his seat. "If you don't mind my asking, what part of the Treasury Department did you work in?"

"FinCEN," Devan replied, hoping they would change the subject.

"Fencing? Isn't that a sword sport with those funny masks?" Jimmy started stabbing the air wildly with his fork. Dr. Mallard interjected before Devan could respond: "Financial Crimes Enforcement Network, Mr. Palmer. You really should not tax your wit so hard." Jimmy sighed and put his fork down.

"I investigated financial networks worldwide, tracing money launderers and tracking down terrorist funds. That was pretty much it." Devan cleared his throat and jumped at the chance for a new topic. "So, Agent Dinozzo was a buckeye, huh?"

A smile broke across Jimmy's face in realization. "Oh, yeah! He would have _hated_ you!"

"'Hate' is such a strong word, Jimmy," laughed the doctor, casting Devan a sympathetic glance. "Although I wouldn't leave any items dear to you alone with him, just in case. You and Agent McGee would get on better, perhaps."

"I don't know, doctor, he always seems to be a little intimidated by other geeks." Before Devan could protest Jimmy's characterization of him, Dr. Mallard replied. "I have noticed that as well, on occasion, especially when it came to Miss Scuito's attention to other 'geeks,' as you say."

Again, Devan started to interject, but Jimmy continued: "You know, I think he was really close to finally asking her out again. Who knows, she might have said yes this time."

"Now, Jimmy, you sound like a schoolgirl telling tales. Jethro assured me that rule twelve would not be broken under his watch. Besides, he had his hands full with Dinozzo and David. And say what he might, but I was never certain his relationship with the director was entirely settled."

His protest forgotten but interest piqued, Devan tried yet again to get in a word, but once again was drowned out by Jimmy's excited outburst. "I know! The way Director Shepard would shadow him, you'd think she only had one team in the whole agency!"

Together, Jimmy and Dr. Mallard laughed at their respective memories of their friends, but after a moment they abruptly stopped and an uneasy somberness settled over the table.

Devan could not help but feel distraught at the strained tension that the silence represented: an unspoken hope that the objects of their commiseration would soon return to them, in the face of the astronomical evidence that they never would. A burst of noise erupted from the table.

With a heavy sigh, Dr. Mallard reached for his cell phone sitting on the side of table. He answered with a wistful greeting, then listened quietly for a few minutes with a litany of urgent expressions flitting across his face. Devan glanced to Jimmy, who in turn gave him a concerned shrug. The doctor snapped his phone shut. At that moment, all of the mirth that had existed only a few minutes prior had dissipated, replaced by a melancholy gaze that seemed to never end. He spoke with a low, gravely tone, stress punctuating every other word. "North Korea has claimed responsibility for the Okinawa bombing. This may be the start of a new world war."


	16. Premonition

Chapter 16 – Premonition

The room was empty. Suspended several feet into the air, a faintly glowing orb cast a faltering circle of light across a dusty concrete floor. A chill seeped from the undisturbed air into his bones, forcing a shudder to flare across Tim's body. He tried to perceive how long he had been here, but every question he asked his mind returned a different answer: perhaps a few seconds, perhaps a few days. He strained his ears in the silence, certain that a twisted danger crept in the shadows beyond, the faintest of footfalls its only warning. And there it was: the soft clap of shoes steadily approaching.

Images raced through his mind, memories of monsters real and imagined, and of people hard and vile. Like a swimmer breaking the surface of a blackened swamp, a face emerged from the shadows. Tim felt his breath catch as Sarah stepped towards him, his baby sister's face streaked with tears that glimmered in the light. Blood stained her blouse and covered her outstretched hands. A thought welled up in his mind, demanding remembrance: Sarah standing outside his apartment door, colored in crimson and suspected of murder. She had not killed then; had she done so now?

Her voice, somehow familiar and yet strangely altered, broke him from his reverie: "Help me, Tim."

He reached out for her, but the movement seemed to betray him. He felt his feet lift from the floor, and the circle of light began to fall away from him. Sarah broke into a run, fear shining in her eyes. With every step she took, his speed increased away from her. She screamed for him.

"Tim! Please! Help me!"

"Sarah! I'm trying! Hurry, Sarah!"

Red flares erupted across the black horizon, arcing across a lightless sky. Somewhere in the distance sirens burst into haunting wails. Tim groped wildly through the air, trying desperately to slow his ascent as his sister's shrinking form gave chase. Her cries became frantic, terror turning her words into hysterical shrieks. The flares began to descend one by one to the earth below, each exploding into broad waves of fire that quickly swelled into towering white mushroom clouds.

And then she was gone, swallowed up into a wall of flames. Every fiber of his being projected itself into an anguished scream. The world dissolved into a white flash and a hideous roar.

* * *

Tony reached out to pull the covers tighter around his body, but his hand returned to him empty. After a few fumbling minutes, it finally dawned on him that he was not just coverless but shirtless as well. He pulled himself up from the cold stone floor of the cave, bit back the urge to chatter his teeth, and willed his eyes to fully open. The blazing light in the center of the cave made him blink rapidly. _Wait? What light?_

Now fully awake, he couldn't hide his amazement at the small fire that burned cheerfully at Ziva and Abby's feet. They held their hands out towards the flames, shadows dancing across their faces as they talked and laughed.

"Why in the world didn't one of you tell me you had started a fire?" Tony settled down next to its warmth.

Ziva gave him a look of mock concern. "You looked so tired, I thought it would be wrong to wake you."

"Tired? Yeah, I was tired, tired of freezing my gonads! Sheesh!" Tony crossed his arms and huffed.

"Aw, I'm sorry, Tony. You really did look peaceful lying there, though," said Abby with a sympathetic smile.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Corpses usually do look peaceful, Abby. Feel my hands! I could freeze water with them!" He laid his hand against the back of Ziva's neck. She whirled and smacked his arm away.

"_Ya manyak! _Do that again and I will make sure your hands stay cold!"

Abby hissed at them both and put a finger to her lips. She pointed to Tim's sprawled form lying curled at her feet, his wounded arm bandaged with Tony's shirt propped carefully on his chest. The firelight glistened in the clear sheen that covered his grimacing face. Abby reached out with one hand to touch his forehead; she abruptly recoiled at the touch. "He's burning up," she said softly, then dropped to her knees beside him. She sniffed the bandage covering his arm and sighed. "We need to find more medicine. The infection's getting worse."

They all sat silently for a moment, the crackle of the fire resounding through the cavern, until Tony stood to his feet. "I'll go."

"Tony, don't be silly. You don't know what to look for," said Ziva, motioning for him to sit back down.

"And you do? There's a purple people eater out there, and I'm not going to let it get either of you."

"The Komodo was not purple, Tony. You say some of the weirdest things, sometimes. Abby and I will both go, and if the creature wants to mess with us we can have dragon steaks for dinner," Ziva replied, tapping her knife for emphasis.

Tony decided to skip harping on Ziva's woeful knowledge of NFL lore, and brightened considerably at the thought of a decent meal. So far they were subsiding on fruits, and there was only so much wholesomeness a Dinozzo could handle.

Their mission settled, Abby sheathed her machete and joined Ziva at the cave's entrance. She managed a weak smile. "Please keep an eye on him, Tony."

"I will, Abs. He'll be McBetter-than-ever before you know it."

With a farewell wave, Abby disappeared into the sunlight. Ziva waited, her gaze locked on Tony, seemingly stuck on trying to formulate her goodbye. He spoke first: "Ziva."

"Yes?"

"Be careful. I can't lose you again."

She smiled, thankful for his willingness to overlook her insecurities. "You won't. Shalom, Tony." And with that she was gone.

Tony settled back down next to the fire, alternating between holding his hands in front of the flames and rubbing them up and down the length of his arms. After a few moments of this, he became aware of Tim's labored breathing and body rocking slightly from side to side. Tony had just stepped to Tim's side when the stricken man lurched upright, eyes open wide, and a blood-curdling howl tore from his lips.

"Sarah!"


	17. Discovery

Chapter 17 – Discovery

Ziva could not help but feel impressed at Abby's unhurried yet constant pace through the wilderness. That her friend's childhood years were spent in the Louisiana bayou was obvious in her graceful, sure-footed strides through the tangled underbrush. Every few minutes, Abby would pause to inspect a newfound plant or tree, studying the intricate patterns in the leaves or the texture of the bark. Ziva would wait in silence, reading far more than words could say from the myriad faces Abby would make as she meticulously studied her finds. After two hours in the sizzling afternoon sun, Ziva was about to suggest turning back when they happened upon a clearing in the forest where the brush gave way to silver-toned sand and waist-high reeds. A cluster of grey-barked trees, with wide low-slung branches and sea-green leaves with tiny white flowers, rustled gently in the midst of the clearing; without a word, Abby bolted towards them.

"Ziva! It's a miracle!"

Ziva followed fast, then watched in amusement as Abby danced animatedly around one of the trees, rubbing her hands wildly over its branches and leaves.

"Abby, what's a miracle?"

"These trees are! _Moringa oleifera_! Miracle trees!"

Ziva nodded slowly, feigning comprehension. Abby cupped a handful of leaves in her hands and held them out to Ziva. She spoke softly, almost reverently: "_Moringa_ is one of the most nutritious plants in the entire world, and more importantly, a powerful antibiotic. I can't believe we found it here."

Although the leaves seemed perfectly ordinary, Ziva felt relief wash over her. If Abby's ecstatic reaction to their discovery was any indication, Tim's chances of survival had improved considerably.

"Come, Abby. It won't do Tim any good for us to stand here and celebrate."

Abby's eye grew wide in realization, and she frantically started stuffing leaves and small branches into every pocket she had. She paused briefly with a wad of leaves in both hands, somewhat perplexed, then gave Ziva coy smile and stuffed them into her bra. Ziva nearly doubled over from laughter, then stammered: "Abby, please, I can help you carry some!"

Unperturbed, Abby held out an armful of branches. "Well, here then! We may need as much as we can get."

After a few minutes, Ziva had to insist that, no, there _really_ wasn't a spot left on her person for yet another branch or cluster of leaves to go. They started back, walked for a few minutes, stopped to readjust most of the branches' locations, resumed walking a few more minutes, then stopped again, this time to put all of the branches into a pair of bundles so they could go on without resembling high-stepping robots. They cradled the bundles in the arms and continued on, laughing and talking excitedly, when several shots rang out through the forest and Ziva crumpled to the ground.

* * *

Gibbs had spent the better part of the day inside the derelict wreck that in many ways reminded him of his dusty, cold basement in D.C. He vigorously scrubbed the barrel of a M1 carbine, one of the few weapons on the plane that still seemed to be in usable condition. Although a dark green discoloration had marred the rifle's wood, its chamber looked as if it had not rusted from exposure. If it came down to it, the weapon was just as likely to kill the shooter as the target.

He heard footsteps approach. Jenny had spent the day outside analyzing the plane's collection of maps in the sunlight, and Gibbs wondered if the heat had finally gotten to her when a deep uneasiness settled into his gut. He turned around just in time to see Jenny step into the plane. Her gaze froze onto him, the subdued terror in her eyes confirming his alarm. Behind her a hulking shadow blotted out the sun, clutching a Kalashnikov rifle that aimed squarely at Gibbs. The shadow spoke in a calm yet unmistakably threatening tone: "Make a move, friend. It's been a week since I last killed a man."

Gibbs stood slowly to his feet, his eyes never leaving the intruder's; in turn, the intruder kept his steely gaze focused on him. Another man stepped into the cabin, much shorter than the first but with the same murderous glare. He spoke to his comrade in short, direct bursts, his brutal intentions tingeing his voice.

"Kill him, Rathos. We don't need him," said the smaller man. He let his eyes linger on Jenny, sending Gibbs' blood into a boil. "She, on the other hand, may prove to be _very_ useful."

Jenny gave him a withering glare and spat back, "I dare you to try, little man."

In a flash, the smaller man crossed the cabin and slammed his hand against her face, sending her tumbling to the floor. For a moment, the world ground to a halt, with seconds stretching into minutes.

Gibbs smashed his foot onto the butt of the M1. It bounced off the metal floor, spinning rapidly into the air. With one hand he snatched an ammo clip from his belt, and with the other he grabbed the rifle from midair. In one motion, he slammed the cartridge into the weapon's chamber and aimed.

Rathos started to fire, bullets tearing through the cabin walls and expelling bursts of wood and metal fragments in an arc that closed in rapidly on Gibbs. With memories of Shannon and Kelly erupting in his mind, he said a silent prayer and squeezed the trigger.

The gun recoiled but held true, and a crimson cloud burst from Rathos' shoulder. Gibbs' fired again. Another hit. The Kalashnikov dropped from Rathos' hands as he staggered backwards.

Gibbs spun towards the target of his wrath, horror twisting the smaller man's features as he dove for his comrade's rifle. A final shot rang out, and the terrorist collapsed to the floor, blood gushing from a hole in his forehead.

* * *

At the sound of gunfire, Ziva's instincts overwhelmed her, and she dropped to the ground for cover. When the echoes dissipated in silence, she willed herself to glance up and assess the situation. Beside her, Abby had mimicked her reaction and was lying face flat in the dirt with her hands covering her head. As her senses returned to her, Ziva realized that, though they were close, the gunshots had not sounded within sight of them. They were not the target.

She crawled towards Abby and shook her gently. Abby cautiously raised her chin up, clearly nervous but calm nonetheless. Ziva whispered to her.

"Do you want to wait here while I figure out what is going on?"

Slightly miffed, Abby shook her head. "I'm not letting you walk into danger alone, Ms. David."

Ziva tried and failed to suppress a smile. "I know you wouldn't, Abby. Give me a minute."

Pulling herself slowly to her feet, Ziva spun a low circle. Their immediate surroundings clear, she picked Abby up from the ground. They hid their treasure trove of _Moringa oleifera_ behind a fallen tree to mark its location, then headed towards the direction the gunshots came from with their knives brandished.

They came upon an aged wreck several hundred yards away that resembled a steel skeleton more than a plane. As they crept along its side, Ziva overheard voices within the structure, muffled but vaguely familiar. Abby suddenly shot past her and rounded the plane, forcing Ziva to chase after her. Ziva felt her heart stop in fear when Abby disappeared into a long gash in the frame and her voice broke into a scream. "I'm coming Abby!" she shouted, and leapt after her friend into the darkened cabin.

Her mouth fell open when Gibbs' smiling form gave her a small wave, the rest of his body enveloped in a trademark Abby hug as his favorite forensic scientist squealed with glee.

A visibly shaken Jenny came to Ziva's side, a red bruise coloring one cheek but a smile stretching across her face. Ziva motioned to the two strange men lying on the cabin floor, one alive and one dead, but Jenny shook her head and embraced her. "In a moment, Ziva. I am so glad to see you both."

Ziva decided to resign herself to confusion for the time being, and returned the embrace. "As am I, Jenny. As am I."

They broke apart to find Gibbs still in Abby's grasp. "Well," Ziva said matter-of-factly, "she _is_ his favorite."

*** * ***

**Story reviewers were rewarded with a sneak peek of the new Castaways website, with artwork for the story.**

**You can access it through the link on my profile page. Enjoy! :)  
**


	18. Recovery

Chapter 18 – Recovery

Tim's sudden outburst had lasted all of three seconds before he succumbed again to the fever's effects and collapsed into dark dreams. Tony barely managed to snap out of his stunned state in time to prevent his friend from pitching forward into the fire, dragging him away from the beckoning flames and propping him gingerly against a smooth section of the cave wall. Tim's breathing had taken on a rough, strangled tone, almost as if he was drowning in the rivulets of sweat that poured from his flushed skin. Tony tried to dismiss the realization that his "probie" would very likely die on this God-forsaken island unless Abby and Ziva returned bearing medicine. He sat off to one side of Tim, eyes intent on any sign of further deterioration, and came to a sudden conclusion. In an odd, dysfunctional way, he thought of Tim as the kid brother he never had but always secretly wished for: someone he could both belittle but also build up. In many ways, Tim had shed the insecurities he started with five years ago, and Tony liked to believe his gentle—well, maybe a little rough—prodding had something to do it. And now he was dying right before his eyes. It wouldn't be the first time he watched a friend die.

As the hours passed and Tim's condition worsened, Tony felt panic creep over him. He paced a small circle around the cavern, his thoughts deafening in the silence. _Where was Abby and Ziva? He should have gone with them. . .no, then Tim would be a charred corpse. . .Abby should have stayed. . .but she was the only one who knew what to look for. . .and Ziva, well, she was far more familiar with exotic locales, and certainly could take care of both herself and Abby. . .then where were they? Maybe there were bigger beasts on this malignant rock, bigger than that stupid walking death trap of a lizard that attacked Tim._ _Maybe something else, something bigger and badder, had attacked them, and was currently devouring their remains. _An image thrust into Tony's mind of Ziva's dark brown eyes closing in anguish as a monstrous beast closed its jaws around her neck, the remains of Abby's pigtails dangling from its bloodied teeth. Tony froze in horror at the thought, then bolted for the cave entrance.

As he bounded towards the sunlight beaming through the cave mouth, it disappeared behind a shadowed figure. Skidding to a halt, Tony narrowly avoided smashing into. . .Gibbs?

"Boss! You're alive! Not that I thought you were dead, it's just, well, amazing that you found us and—"

"Dinozzo!"

Tony caught his tongue, closed his eyes, and steeled himself for a long overdue headslap. After a few seconds passed without a stinging sensation erupting from the back of his head, Tony hazarded to open an eye. Gibbs stared back at him, a rare smile across his face. "It's good to see you, Tony. Here." He held out a tattered but still usable camouflage jacket, which Tony eagerly snatched up.

"Wow, thanks, boss. How'd you know?" he asked as he donned the slightly too large jacket over his shirtless body. He zipped it tight then continued with a knowing smile. "I guess I should just accept that your gut is all-knowing."

Gibbs gave him a smirk and stepped further into the cavern. "Ziva told me."

"Ziva! You've seen her? Where?"

"I am right behind you, Tony."

Tony whirled around to see Ziva stepping down into the cave, a thick bundle of branches clasped in her arms, followed close behind by Abby bearing a bundle as well. A sense of relief tingled through Tony's body at the sight of them returning to him whole, with nary a monster bite between them. Ziva, perhaps sensing his dissolving panic, gave him a puzzled smile as she walked past him and set her branches down next to Tim. Gibbs held a hand over his agent's forehead, his face devoid of emotion. Abby added her pile to Ziva's, then the both of them began to extract leaves from every possible pocket in their clothing. Tony tried not to let his gaze linger too long on Ziva's animated form as her hands ran up and down her body, but a glance towards Gibbs confirmed his suspicion that the boss knew exactly where his eyes had been.

"C'mon, Dinozzo. You're coming with me. We need to get back to Jenny," said Gibbs, standing to his feet.

"The director's here too? Lady Luck must love Team Gibbs!" A resounding thwack echoed through the cave, and Tony began rubbing the back of his head. "Shutting up, boss."

Gibbs scowled as he stepped past him into the outside world. Tony glanced back at Abby and Ziva, just long enough to see that Abby was hurriedly grinding one of the branches into a small bowl of water that Ziva held over the fire. He caught Ziva's gaze, and her eyes answered his unspoken question: Tim was going to be OK. Or maybe her eyes were saying something else. . .

Hearing Gibbs barking his name, Tony stepped into the sunlight and hurried after his boss.

As they strode briskly through the forest, Gibbs described the day's events to Tony. By the time they reached the wreckage that had served as Gibbs' and Jenny's island home for the last few days, Tony was almost in a blind rage at the thought that two intruders attempted to kill his friends and mentors. He followed Gibbs into the plane' cabin and found Jenny, brandishing a Kalashnikov and an ancient M1, standing over an unconscious giant of a man with a hastily bandaged wound on each shoulder. She gave him a cheerful greeting, but the residual color in the side of her face made Tony's cheeks burn.

"Why the hell should we bother saving this murderous creep?" Tony demanded. Gibbs gave him a warning glare, but Tony persisted. "He already tried to kill both of you! What are we going to do if he survives? Tie his leg to a tree and feed him doggie treats?"

"We've got to try, Dinozzo," said Gibbs, kneeling to the side of the fallen man. He motioned to Tony to help him carry the giant. Tony shook his head angrily but followed suit. After a few aborted attempts at picking the unfathomably heavy man up from the side, they settled on Tony lifting him from his legs and Gibbs holding him up by his torso. As they half-dragged their captive out of the plane cabin, Tony found himself very grateful for having hit the gym a few more times over the last couple of months, as every muscle in his body screamed in protest at the strenuous effort this task demanded. Wielding both weapons and a couple of overfilled sacks, Jenny followed the strange trio through the forest.

Nightfall descended on them rapidly, and their need to rest every few hundred yards kept them from arriving back at the waterfall cave until long after the moon had circled the sky and only stars lit the world around them. Tony noted that their captive failed to stir throughout the journey, perhaps due to the thin trickle of blood that seeped through his bandages and darkened the forest floor. Gibbs guided Tony to the same flat boulder he and Ziva had slept on only a few nights ago, where they laid the captive down and bound his hands and feet. "Let's see if we can find some more bandages," said Gibbs wearily.

As they approached the mouth of the cave, Tony steeled himself for the worst. He imagined a traumatized Abby cradling a grey-skinned Tim in her arms, her life-saving efforts in vain. Swallowing hard, he stepped down into the dim cavern. . .and saw Tim, eyes open wide, huddled close to the fire with a weak smile stretched across his face. Abby's eyes twinkled in the firelight, her arms draped over his shoulders in an everlasting hug. Gibbs and Jenny stood to the side, relief clearly marking their features, and Ziva stole quietly to Tony's side and nudged him softly. "We did it," she said simply.

Tony looked back at Tim, who was grinning widely at him. Tony shook his head. "You need to stop scaring me like that, probie."


	19. To Save A Life

Chapter 19 – To Save A Life

Though the cavern was a good twenty feet long and fifteen feet round, the low, seven foot ceiling and lower light combined with the increased number of occupants to give it a cramped atmosphere. In the farthest corner of the cave, Abby and Gibbs worked feverishly to repair their captive's wounds. In her initial examination, Abby had determined the other shot went straight through the flesh of his arm; a poultice of _Moringa oleifera_ and a tight bandage solved that problem. Their current attention, however, was commanded by a bullet embedded in his shoulder that bled slowly but continuously. The captive's failure to regain consciousness indicated their need to work quickly if he was to be of any future use to them.

To their side sat Jenny with a rifle laid across her legs and a makeshift torch to light their operation. She twisted the long, thin blade of her knife in the torch's flame, then handed the sterilized tool to Abby. McGee sat across from Jenny, still haggard from his bout with the fever but observing Abby's actions and advising her when necessary. Next to Tim, Tony and Ziva watched with interest but said nothing.

"Let it cool for a minute, Abs," Tim said weakly. She rolled her eyes at him, but tolerated his statement of the obvious in light of his condition. After a moment of preparation, she turned to Gibbs, her expression grim. "I'm ready."

Gibbs reached across the wounded man's unmoving form and lightly spread apart the edges of the bullet wound. A small black corner peered out above the pulsating swirl of blood that pooled in the shallow hole. Tim leaned forward as far as his weakened body would allow, his breath catching as Abby stuck the tip of the knife into the wound. He guided her softly: "OK, the bullet is caught just under the _clavicle_. Push the flat of the blade against the _supraspinatus_ muscle. . .good. See? The pressure is pushing the bullet out of the wound. OK, very carefully. . .careful. . .slide the blade under the bullet. . .start bringing it up. . .you're doing great, Abby. You got it! You did it!" He broke into a broad smile that matched Abby's as she cradled the blood-covered mushroom-tipped slug in her palm. "I think Ducky would be proud," said Jenny, her own pride evident. Gibbs gave Abby a wry wink.

Tim motioned towards Jenny. "Alright, Abby, we need to cauterize the wound before we wrap him up." After a few more minutes in the torch, Jenny returned the blade to Abby. They all cringed at the sound of the wound sizzling at the touch of the white hot knife, and suppressed their urge to gag as the stench of burning flesh filled the air. Abby applied a thick paste of antibiotic plants to the strip of cloth Gibbs handed her, and together they bound up the wound. Gibbs laid his head onto the man's chest and listened. "The heartbeat's slow but steady." He lifted his head up. "Nothing we can do now but wait. And keep him bound."

* * *

"Open wide, Tony."

Tony alternated glances between Ziva's playful grin and the steaming leaf-wrapped mash she offered to him. He sniffed the air warily, but his stomach grumbled loudly in anticipation as a smoky, slightly spicy aroma filled his lungs.

"I don't know, Ziva. Whatever was in those cans has been on this island longer than I've been alive."

Ziva's eyes darkened. "You have been complaining for hours about food, and now you are not hungry?"

His gut churning angrily, Tony's resolve cracked. "OK, fine. If I die from food pois—mmph!" He bit back the urge to cough as Ziva stuffed the wrap into his mouth, a mischievous smile across her face. She let a finger linger for the barest of moments on his bottom lip as he dutifully chewed her strange concoction, an assortment of flavors competing for his attention. Once he swallowed the morsel, she gave him an expectant gaze. "What do you think?"

"I could stand to be force fed another. Tastes like. . .a thrice-refried bean burrito with a layer of Tabasco sauce and a hint of peppermint."

Ziva crossed her arms with a huff. "If you do not like it, just say so."

"I like it!" he said defensively. "I've just never had anything like it before."

Mollified, Ziva scooped some of the mash from the tin can she cooked it in onto another broad leaf, then bit into the combo. Her expression turned from curiosity to confusion. "You are right. It is an. . .odd flavor," she said thoughtfully.

He leaned back against the cavern wall with a smug grin. "Told you so."

She shrugged and downed the rest of her meal, then gathered her ingredients together to share with the others. Tony followed her to the fire in the center of the cavern, where the rest of the team had gathered in a semi-circle around the warm hearth; their prisoner lay alone in the corner, bundled underneath a layer of empty sacks. Tony noted Gibbs' gaze following him as he and Ziva sat down and completed the circle. His boss gave him a questioning look, one that Tony understood to be in regards to a certain rule about coworkers. . .

"Mmm! This is _delicious_, Ziva!" Abby's excited reaction to her friend's new dish provided a welcome distraction. At Abby's side, Tim held out his hand in request. "You know I'm starving, Ziva."

Ziva happily emptied the rest of the tin can and exhausted her supply of leaves as she passed around her "mint" tacos, as she decided to call them, to Tim, Jenny, and Gibbs, in turn. Although Gibbs' reaction to the dish mimicked Tony's, Jenny was complimentary, and Tim was downright effusive, although Tony suspected the poor guy's near starvation may have played a role in his praise. Nonetheless, Ziva beamed at the positive feedback, so much so that Tony mentally upped the dish a notch on her behalf.

The conversation turned to the various adventures each group had found themselves in since that fateful day a week before; Tim's dramatic retelling of his parachute dive after Abby would have seemed an embellishment if Tony hadn't seen him fly by with his own eyes. Ziva recounted the monster waves that sunk their raft and the thin sand bar that led them to the island. Gibbs merely shrugged when asked about his and Jenny's path over the past week, and Jenny did not volunteer information either.

Abby finally broke the reverie with a question: "So what do we do now?"

All eyes turned to Gibbs. He pointed to the man in the corner.

"First priority will be to find out his story, and what else might be waiting for us on this island."

"Second," he continued. "We need to get off this rock."

"And how are we going to do that?" said Tony with a note of despair.

"He and his buddy didn't swim here, Dinozzo."

"Oh, yeah," Tony replied, then glared at Tim who was biting back laughter. "Like you knew, probie!"

Shaking his head, Gibbs stood to his feet. "Why don't we all call it a night?"

* * *

Tony propped himself up in one corner of the cavern, silently thanking Gibbs again for the jacket in light of the chill seeping from the stone. He closed his eyes and let his focus drift. Well, drift as far as Ziva: his attention never seemed to be far from her these days. He let himself imagine life as it could be, if they could ever get past the rules and the past and the myriad number of emotions. He imagined her touch, her skin soft against his, and the scent of her hair. . .he could almost smell it now. He _could_ smell it now.

He opened his eyes. Somehow, she had surpassed her previous records for stealth; her head rested softly on his chest, her eyes closed and a whisper of a snore sounding into his neck.

Tony wondered if it was possible to break a jaw from grinning.


	20. Uncivil Debate

Chapter 20 – Uncivil Debate

Leon Vance shifted in his seat, feigning disinterest as two grown men screamed obscenities at each other across the regal U.S. Senate floor. How C-SPAN failed to top the media ratings were beyond him; reality television paled in comparison to the business of racketeering, extortion, and doubletalk known colloquially as "government." Unfortunately for any potentially interested viewers, the cameras were now off, subject to the veil of secrecy that a closed session required.

"I stood by and let two wars get rammed down this nation's throat before! I'll be damned if I do so again!" shouted Senator Peter Elders of North Carolina, a frail-looking, white-haired wisp of a man whose booming voice was incongruent to his small stature.

The target of his frustration, Senator Randall Cardigan of California, turned a splotchy purple as his chiseled, Hollywood-bred face twisted into a look of virulent fury. He sputtered a few syllables that Leon surmised to have been half-formed profanities, but was cut off by the presiding officer's insistent gavel.

"The senator from North Carolina no longer has the floor. Please, gentleman, keep this debate civil."

Cardigan exploded. "THAT RAT-ASS, BACKWOODS, COUNTRY HICK BASTARD WOULD RATHER HAVE TERRORISTS NUKING US TO KINGDOM COME THAN KEEP THIS COUNTRY SAFE!"

"I'm not sending anymore of my citizens off to die on foreign shores on the word of a war hawk, Cardigan! I want proof North Korea's behind the Okinawa bombing, and a hundred word press release ain't it!"

Before the argument could escalate any further, the presiding officer slammed his gavel down and pointed towards Leon.

"The floor recognizes the interim director of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, Leon Vance." He motioned to a solitary podium that stood alone in the center of the cavernous auditorium, facing the semicircle of desks that were now filled by restless politicians. As a pointed aside to the North Carolina senator, the presiding officer added: "Perhaps the agency will have some evidence to report."

Leon slowly made his way to the lone podium and did his best to ignore the hushed whispers echoing around the room. He stared blankly through the glare of the spotlight for a moment, mentally reviewing the evidence Devan Patel had supplied him with earlier that day as a multitude of faces, some angry, many frightened, stared back.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Senate," he started, then paused for the briefest of moments to carefully weigh his next words, "in light of evidence obtained mere hours ago, I do not believe North Korea perpetrated the Okinawa attack."

He was prepared for the murmur of dissent that stirred to life throughout the house, and pressed forward with his remarks. "In spite of the repeated pronouncements from the North Korean foreign office that claim culpability, we have obtained several internal CIA memos from an operative within the highest levels of the North Korean government who states that Kim Jong-Il was himself surprised by the news, and had to be convinced that China would not cut off aid to his country if he did not disavow responsibility."

"Is that it?" called out a voice within the crowd.

"No. An agent within my office traced a payment of over one hundred million dollars to an account in Jakarta, Indonesia, made payable to a front organization affiliated with the _Inzurida_ insurgency. Although we have for years treated them as a mythical, internet-based group, Indonesian intelligence insists they have transitioned into a lethal force over the last two years. The payment was initiated from an American account; North Korea would only make a payment of such a large sum using their own counterfeit superdollars. They would never risk moving real American currency."

Senator Cardigan shot to his feet. "I request the floor."

Despite the senator having forgotten the proper decorum for addressing him, the presiding officer granted his request. Leon stiffened his back and refused to look away from the Californian's probing gaze.

"_Interim_ Director Vance," said Cardigan, stressing his first word with a hint of warning, "pray tell under what authority you came to be in possession of memos belonging to the CIA?"

"I have been vetted for every security clearance in the intelligence community, Senator."

"Indeed? Hmm. Are you aware that one of my—ahem—many committees will review your fitfulness for the position as permanent NCIS director?"

Leon narrowed his eyes and felt his teeth grind. "I am, Senator."

Cardigan bent low over his desk, its higher footing allowing the already taller man to tower over Leon. "I do not appreciate inter-agency meddling."

His career likely in the balance, Leon went with his gut. "I apologize for doing what I feel is best for my country. Senator."

The next hour was a blur of shouting, gavel-swinging, and a hurried, brusque exit from the U.S. Capitol building into an unmarked limousine that practically dumped Leon back at NCIS headquarters. He was working in his office of only a week, packing up his few personal items he had bothered to unpack, when the phone rang at his desk.

"Leon," he answered belatedly, rubbing his aching forehead.

"Director Vance, this is Peter Elders."

"Senator," said Leon, aware of the surprise in his voice. "I must apologize for—"

"Nonsense! A great man once told me apologies were a sign of weakness. Best advice I've ever gotten in my line of work."

Leon felt a smile break across his face. "You've met Agent Gibbs, I see."

"It's like meeting Elvis, back when Elvis was a nobody but you knew he was gonna be somebody one day."

Leon laughed. "I can honestly say I've never heard of a comparison like that."

"He is a good man, Leon. And if the Lord above wants to keep good men around, they need good men behind them. You were that man today."

"Well, I'm an unemployed man now, Senator." Leon sunk into his seat and propped his feet on his desk. "Not too much I can do for him now."

"You callin' me a liar, Director?" bristled the voice on the line.

"Uh—no, sir," Leon started backpedaling, but the voice broke into a fit of laughter before turning serious again.

"OK, here's the deal. Cardigan has filed a motion to order SecNav to terminate you. To screw with that overheated windbag, and because I feel you're the best man for this job, I am filibustering his asinine motion. On the other hand, the Okinawa bombing has been delegated to the CIA. I did what I could but enough heads feel that the agency has the best chops for that mess. I'm telling you, these cronies don't appreciate the fine work NCIS does."

Leon nodded slowly to no one in particular. "I see. At least tell me I can still try to find my predecessor and my best team."

"Right now, Leon, I am personally charging you with that mission. Forget Okinawa; we need Gibbs."

Leon chuckled. "I couldn't agree more, Senator."

* * *

Devan Patel looked around the orange walls of the NCIS squadroom and imagined what it would be like to run headfirst into one of them at top speed. With any luck, the impact would kill him and release him from the slow death of information overload; sleep was no respite, as thousands of lines of code would scroll through his dreams, every single one demanding his unconscious attention and burning through his brain cells like fuses. Salvation from a grisly death appeared before him in the form of Jimmy Palmer, still clad in medical scrubs but bearing two cups of coffee.

"Hey man, it's almost time for lunch. My treat today."

Devan greedily snatched one of the coffee cups and downed it. He barely registered the sensation of his throat scalding in protest as desperate as he was for a much-needed caffeine jolt. Jimmy looked on in stunned silence, and pulled his cup away from Devan's outstretched grasp. "Whoa! If you want another one, get it yourself!"

"Sorry," wheezed Devan. "I've just been bashing my head against the same problem all morning, and right now seppuku looks like an appealing option."

"I'd say lunch is more appealing. C'mon, get away from it for a few minutes, and when you come back you'll have a fresh perspective."

Devan pulled himself to his feet and started to stretch, but thought better of it when his back gave him a warning twitch. "Oof! You're right. Lead the way."

Devan started for the exit, but Jimmy stopped in front of the plasma screen, his curiosity piqued by a flashing red object overlayed on a map of the Pacific hemisphere. "What's this?"

"That? The origin of an IP address I've been tracking. It's stuck in the middle of the ocean."

Palmer turned towards him excitedly. "What if there's something out there? Like a ship, or an island?"

Devan shrugged. "I've tapped into the live satellite feeds. There's nothing bigger than ten feet across within a hundred miles of that location." He felt his stomach twist when Palmer's face fell. "Oh."

Devan stepped into the elevator with Jimmy, who looked visibly disappointed. Devan tried to put his mind off his friend's sour mood and glanced lazily around the elevator. His gaze centered on the long-defunct video camera that peered down at both of them. Why the agency ever bothered having a camera that didn't work was. . .

Devan felt a nudge at his side. "Hey! We're at our floor! Why are you staring at the camera?"

"Oh, crap," said Devan.


	21. Captivation

Chapter 21 – Captivation

A nagging sensation, both familiar and vague, crept slowly over Tony as he lay sprawled across the cave floor. Disturbed from his sleep, he willed a heavy eye to open. A shadow of a man loomed over him, dark eyes peering into his. "Get up, Dinozzo."

Tony blinked rapidly in response and willed himself awake. "OK, getting up now. Something wrong, boss?"

Gibbs' eyes glanced down. Perplexed, Tony followed suit. . .and saw Ziva's still sleeping form half-straddling his body, her face turned into his chest and an arm draped across his shoulder.

"Um—er, well," Tony stammered, but Gibbs cut him off. "The prisoner's awake. It's your turn to guard him," he said as he stalked away to the center of the cave, where Jenny stood over the dwindling fire and fed fresh wood into the flames.

Tony swallowed hard, and pushed away the anger that grew the more he considered a certain rule. He returned his gaze to the woman that brewed such heresy within him; despite the damage and dirt she had accumulated the past week, a serenity Tony had seldom seem before shone on Ziva's face. He dared to imagine that he contributed to her peaceful sleep, and his anger quickly dissipated into a melancholy hope that she would eventually learn to live without fear again.

He called her name, softly at first, but with increasing volume as she remained lost in slumber. She finally lifted her head up, ran a hand through her wild hair, and gave him a look he would have thought murderous if it hadn't been for the half-formed grin she had. "It is still dark out, Tony. Why are you waking me?"

"Gibbs wants me to babysit our newly cured captive."

With a suddenness that left Tony bewildered, Ziva shot to her feet and glanced around the cave. Tony saw her face fall when Gibbs met her gaze, and he felt another flash of rage sweep over him. He pulled himself up and reached for Ziva. Backpedaling away from his grasp, she rushed to Jenny's side and spoke quietly into her ear. A moment later, Ziva hurried to the cave entrance, avoiding Gibbs' gaze while Jenny followed fast behind. "Bathroom break," said Jenny before she disappeared after Ziva.

Tony stood rooted to the ground. He alternated clenching and unclenching his fists, and swept his eyes around the cave. Tim sat alone in the deepest end of the cavern, gripping the M1 carbine and glancing back and forth between the scene that just unfolded before him and the stone-faced behemoth of a man that sat against the cave wall, hands and feet bound with rope. Several feet away, stretched across a stone slab and oblivious to the world, Abby lay sleeping with a rolled up sack for a pillow and the remnants of a parachute for a blanket. Tony let his gaze settle on Gibbs, who stared back with an intensity that matched his. "Conference room," they said in unison, then turned towards Tim, who nodded in realization. "Uh, I'll keep an eye on him," said Tim as he turned his attention back to his captive.

Gibbs gave him a grunt of acknowledgment and headed to mouth of the cave with Tony hot on his heels.

* * *

Ziva emerged from the bushes with a relieved bladder and a distressed mind. She ambled slowly to the water's edge and watched the cascading waterfall churn the black water below into billowy white waves that sparkled in the light of a half moon. A chill wind seeped through her thin clothing, bringing back images of a dank stone cell that roasted in a desert heat by day and plunged to an unbearable cold by night. How many times had she lost hope in those nightmarish nights, clinging to life and sanity only by the force of memories? Long before he crossed the world to avenge her death, he had kept her alive, the thought of his crystal green eyes looking again into hers enough to stir another beat from her despondent heart. But she could not bring herself to disobey the man who had made himself a father to her, a replacement magnitudes greater than the one that sacrificed her to that vicious fate.

A gentle nudge to her shoulder broke Ziva from her troubled thoughts. Jenny gave her a smile so warm it seemed to tame the cold breeze that swept around them. "Talk to me," she said in a tone that resembled both a statement and a question.

"Is it not obvious?" said Ziva with a forced smile.

"Is it obvious that Tony loves you? Yes, it is."

Ziva's eyebrows furrowed. "Is it not apparent that I love him as well?"

Jenny folded her arms and stared into the starlit sky as she weighed the question. "Yes, I suppose so."

Ziva felt her skin burn. "That is not fair. I would die for him!"

Jenny curled an eyebrow. "And yet you would let something as silly as a little guideline keep you from being with him?"

"It is not my rule to break. Gibbs has our best interests at heart."

Jenny stifled a chuckle. "I must apologize, Ziva. It is my fault."

Ziva shook her head in incomprehension. "I do not understand. How is this your fault?"

"When I first met Jethro, rule twelve was 'never turn your back on a suspect.' Sometime after. . .after Paris. . ." Jenny's voice trailed off for a moment with a wistful look in her eyes. "As I said, I'm sorry. And before you tell me to 'never apologize,' just remember that rule does not apply between friends. And Ziva, about La Grenioulle. . ."

"No," said Ziva abruptly. "No, you do not need to apologize for that. You were doing what you felt you needed to do to protect your country. Tony will come to understand that."

Jenny pulled her friend into an embrace. "That may be, but I think I knew then that you loved him. Even if you didn't know it yet."

Ziva returned the hug with a fervor that surprised them both. As they pulled apart, a sudden cry sounded through the night.

* * *

Tim ran an absent-minded finger up and down the barrel of the M1 carbine, his thoughts whirling around the impending shouting match he was sure to come between Tony and Gibbs outside the cave. He glanced over to the twice-bandaged and twice-bound man that sat a few feet in front of him. Tim noted with some self-satisfaction that the man, Rathos as Gibbs remembered his dead companion addressing him, seemed to be on the path to recovery from his wounds. Tim had long feared that he had forgotten most of his medical courses he had taken at John Hopkins, but between him and Abby they were able to patch up their captive.

His gaze fell on where Abby lay. A smile broke over his face as he thought of the efforts she had expended to rescue him from the Komodo dragon's infectious attack. Perhaps, if Tony were to be allowed to break rule twelve, he and Abby could finally reveal their long-resumed relationship. Although Tim had a gut feeling that Gibbs might have been aware all along. . .

A sudden movement from his prisoner drew Tim's attention. Rathos adjusted his weight on the hard stone floor, his eyes boring into Tim's.

"Hey. What are you doing over there?" Tim hoped his voice sounded stronger than it felt.

Rather than answer, Rathos settled back down. His face rendered no emotion, but his black eyes seemed to flame with a passionate hatred as they remained focused on Tim.

"Look, you're going to be with us for awhile. At least tell me something about yourself," said Tim sternly.

Rathos answered with naught but a more intense gaze.

Somewhat miffed, Tim slunk against a rock and resolved to win this impromptu staring contest. After a few minutes of a palpably tense silence, Tim gradually became aware of heated voices echoing through the cavern. Tim had never heard such a heated argument between Tony and the man he practically worshipped. As their tones escalated, Tim broke away from his little game with Rathos and tried to angle his vision towards the cave entrance in the hope that he could see the debate.

No matter how much he leaned his body towards the entrance, Tony and Gibbs remained out of sight. The volume of the argument having decreased, Tim resigned himself to asking Tony for details later and returned his gaze to his captive. His gaze locked on the empty corner of the cave, then crept up to see huge eyes bearing down on him, flames flickering in their bloodshot orbs.

* * *

As soon as they were a few feet from the cave entrance, Gibbs whirled on Tony, his eyes flashing with anger in the dark. "Tell me you haven't broken rule twelve!"

"You know, I'm really getting tired of hearing about that stupid rule," growled Tony. He dug his heel into the dirt, as if the act would help him to metaphorically stand his ground.

Gibbs gestured to the surrounding forest. "Dammit, Dinozzo! This is not some exotic vacation for you to act out your Bond fantasies. I need you focused on the task at hand!"

"What task? For all we know that cretin in there could be the only native left on this God-forsaken rock! And if there's a search party out looking for us, they must be completely lost, because I sure haven't seen any sign of them!"

"Don't try to change the subject, Tony. They are rules for a reason. I'm not going to let you hurt her," said Gibbs, a finger raised in warning. "I'm not, not after last summer."

Tony felt a rush of mingled emotions overwhelm him, anger mixed with guilt, shock tinged with despair. He spoke in a hushed whisper. "You believe I killed Rivkin out of jealousy, don't you?"

Gibbs visibly softened and shook his head. "I didn't say that. But she thought so, for a time."

Tony's mind reeled, and heartache burned through his veins like a liquid flame. He drew on every fiber of his being, taxed every ounce of his strength to make his best case. "Boss," he said, emphasizing the word with a reverent tone, "I love Ziva." His voice swelled in power. "As much as I respect you and the rules, I will not let her go again. I can't. I will die, maybe not physically; but _here_, inside, where it matters, I will absolutely cease to exist. She is my Shannon, my Kelly, my Jenny. I love her."

Tony slumped to his knees, the effort of his words having stolen his strength. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Gibbs leaning over him, a hint of a smile on his face.

"Tony, rule twelve says coworkers shouldn't date."

"Uh, yeah," Tony smirked, "Isn't that why we're out here screaming at each other?"

Gibbs patted him on the shoulder and pulled him to his feet. "It doesn't say anything about _soulmates_."

A smile broke out over Tony's face, but his next words were drowned out by a loud shout echoing from within the cavern.

* * *

Tony was the first to burst into the cave, with Gibbs nearly toppling him over from behind. They skidded to a halt in shock at the scene before them, which is how Ziva and Jenny found them when they bounded into the cavern mere seconds later. They too ground to a halt in utter surprise, amazed at the sight of Abby, posing like a hunter in possession of a prize catch with one foot planted squarely in the back of her capture and a Kalashnikov rifle pointed down at his head, beamed with glee from atop their foiled escapee. Off to the side, Tim busied himself with rebinding the prisoner's hands and feet, a thick bruise developing on the side of his haggard face. He stood to his feet, pulled a sliver of metal from one pocket and a silver wristwatch from another, and held them out to Gibbs. "Boss, the razor was in his watch."

Abby cheerily interjected. "Lucky for you, Tim, the rifle was in my hands."

Tim rolled his eyes and gave Gibbs an apologetic look. "Boss, I will never again question the wisdom of sleeping with a gun."

* * *

**Sorry for the long delay! I had a monster of a deadline at work this week, but wrote a longer-than-usual chapter to try to make up for it! :-)**


	22. Initiation

Chapter 22 – Initiation

Arul Budianto limped through the pouring rain, thankful to some degree that the foul weather afforded him a lonely walk through the swollen Jakarta streets. The rush of sullen gray clouds overhead turned the late afternoon sky into a starless night, coloring the sprawling metropolis a murky blue, and obscured the various ruts and cracks that threatened his labored steps on the concrete path. His destination rose from the mist, a circle of spotlights setting its prominent gold flame aglow atop a soaring white marble base: the _Monas_, Indonesia's monument to its independence. He could not help but feel a tinge of patriotic fervor at the sight; perhaps, if all went according to plan, the Western world would finally look upon his homeland with the fear and respect they afforded themselves.

He trudged onward, his once-broken but never-healed right leg forcing him into a low, loping gait. As he approached the black iron fence that encircled the monument, a trio of dark shapes melted from the shadows. Arul came to a halt and rubbed a weary hand across his eyes: the apparitions remained, enclosing him in a semicircle. The center figure pulled back his rain-soaked hood to reveal a wide-jawed, unshaven face that framed two piercing blue eyes that glimmered in the darkness.

Arul mustered a short nod. "Will we conduct our meeting in the rain, Tamos?"

The figure gave him the faintest of smiles. "Arul, my friend. There has been a change in plans. If it pleases you, we would make you a brother tonight."

Arul let his happiness show in his voice. "I will be initiated? I dare not refuse such an honor, my leader."

"I did not think you would. Your skills have served us well. There are a few minor details I would like to clear up, but that discussion can wait. Let us go!" Tamos snapped his fingers, and immediately a gleaming black van surged to a stop behind Arul. Tamos' two companions whirled their new inductee around and hurried him aboard. "Please understand," said one as he tugged a hood over Arul's head. The sound of doors slamming and tires screeching soon gave way to the rough pounding of his heart; blinded to all but his thoughts, Arul could not help but fear that he had made a terrible mistake.

Half an hour and several miles later, Arul felt the van come to a rolling stop. Two pairs of hands quickly maneuvered him from his seat to the ground, and practically carried him along as the gravel underneath his feet abruptly turned to smooth concrete. They pulled him to a stop and shoved him backwards into what felt to be a cold metal chair; the hood disappeared, and a small, low lit room with a lone half-translucent window and darkly stained walls greeted him. His captors, or soon-to-be comrades, pulled his arms down to a pair of leather straps that dangled from the chair's armrests and began to wrap them around his wrists. Tamos stood in the doorway, a friendly smile on his lips but silence in his eyes. "Leave the straps loose. We do not want to alarm our new brother unnecessarily," he said reassuringly. The two gave each other an awkward glance but complied, leaving Arul and Tamos alone in the room. The door made a low creak as it swung shut, then a long soft hiss as it sealed off the air outside.

Tamos leaned against the far wall, his eyes straying to one side of the room. Arul followed his gaze and felt his blood run cold. A steel table sat off to the side, an array of red-stained knives laid across its heavily scratched surface. Arul snapped his head around and pleaded. "What have I done to deserve torture?"

Tamos shook his head, still smiling. "It is not what you think, my brother. They are for your use, not ours. It is part of the initiation, and every member of our brotherhood has faced this test."

Arul rolled this revelation around in his mind. "I see. To achieve great things, one must overcome greater fears."

"That is our creed," said Tamos. He stepped forward and kicked the side of Arul's right shoe. "You sought us out because you believed we could make you stronger than your fears. Strong enough to avenge yourself on those that left you a crippled orphan, begging on the streets while they divided your inheritance. Luckily for you, and for us, I might add, you managed to excel in computer science, if not the art of vengeance."

Arul dug his fingernails into his palms, a searing heat spreading across his skin. "Make me stronger."

Tamos turned to the window and nodded. Somewhere in the building, a wheezing air conditioner rumbled to life. "Before we begin, I have one question," said Tamos with a curious expression. "How likely is it that the Americans would trace our little transaction I tasked you with?"

Arul gave a smug grin. "It is impossible. There is none alive who could untangle the web I weaved, even with one hundred million dollars at stake." At no sign of relief on his master's face, Arul began to feel puzzled. "Why do you ask?"

As a gray smoke seeped from vents in the floor, Tamos' face dissolved into a blank stare. "Because they did."

Arul felt panic overtake him, then began to cough violently as the room filled with a sulfurous cloud that burned his lungs. Tamos closed his eyes and breathed deeply, wafting more of the gas towards his face with his hands.

"What—what is this!" Arul managed to gasp, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

A strangely calm voice answered him. "These are your fears. Face them."

Arul spun his head around as the room darkened gradually, shadows stretching up from the ground and spreading across the walls. Faces peered at him from the window, rippling as the glass tremored at its edges. The single light overhead shimmered and scattered visible rays of light, each one arcing slowly to the ground and bursting into a tiny but swiftly growing flame. From every hairline fracture in the stone floor, a bubbling blackness welled up and spilled over, a tangled mass of shapes forming and dissolving rapidly in its wake. Voices, strangled and unintelligible, spoke in murmurs from every corner of the room, punctuated with increasing frequency by ghastly violent screams. A man with raven black hair stared at him with unbridled intensity; Arul felt he should remember the man's name, but his mind was beginning to forget his own. Suddenly, the smoke swirled and assembled itself into a towering shadow; a pair of long, thick claws reached toward him, followed swiftly by engorged, black needle-skinned arms. A cacophony of roars rumbled over him, sending his heart leaping to his throat. He tore at his restraints, frantically trying to free himself. He looked with longing towards a particularly vicious looking knife that rested with arm's reach of him on the steel table. The monster stepped from its shadowy cocoon, a demonic triad of dragon heads snapping and nipping at each other in anticipation of their prey. He screamed and pulled with all of his strength with one arm. It suddenly burst free of the leather strap, and he snatched up the knife and slashed through the restraint on his other arm. A voice called out to him from the darkness, but the words no longer held any meaning. "Face it, Arul. Do not fight it."

He bounded away from the chair, smashed into the far wall, and spun around to find the dark creature swooping down upon him. Like a crashing ocean wave it swallowed him up, and he stabbed angrily at the black tendrils that spread cross his skin and pulled him screaming down to the abyss.

Tamos watched with some bemusement as Arul failed his induction. In the far corner of the room, the man finally collapsed in a heap, blood pouring from the hundreds of self-inflicted gashes across his body. His left hand sat alone on the armrest, severed from the rest of his body in his mad rush away from some imagined nightmare. The shadows beckoned to Tamos, promising him any number of terrible dreams if he should choose to believe them, but he calmly refused. No amount of _ollileaf_ gas affected him anymore, not after years of delving into its dark power.

He stepped from the room, motioned to his gas mask-clad comrades to clean up the mess, and flipped open his cell phone. He responded to the rough voice that answered with a sharp tone of his own: "I cleaned up my mess. Take care of yours."

Without waiting for a reply, he snapped the phone shut. A sudden beep from it piqued his interest, and he reopened it to see that a new text message awaited him: "Rathos/Nan have not returned. 2 days late."

* * *

**I'm really hoping Gibbs vs. Tamos = Battle Royale :)**

**Oh, and that ollileaf is some nasty stuff. Now back to our regularly scheduled fluff :)**


	23. Wingmen

Chapter 23 – Wingmen

Tony plopped into the moss-covered pilot's seat, swiped an enthusiastic hand across a row of corroded switches, and yanked the twin-handled steering wheel hard to the left. He broke into a string of exaggerated engine sounds, punctuated with rapid bursts of false gunfire and culminating in a final explosive woosh. "Oh, no, McCopilot! We've been hit!"

Tim popped his head into the small cabin, ducking low to avoid a wayward branch that dangled through the shattered cockpit. He gave Tony an annoyed eye roll. "You gonna help me back here? Or are you going to pretend to fly this wreck back to DC?"

"Whatever, McFunless. You're just mad you can't strap one of the engines to your back. Don't think I've forgotten your jetpack-packed Powerpoint presentation."

"Tony, this is a B29. It has propellers."

Tony shook his head and pulled himself from the seat. "You know McGee, you can be. . .OW!" He clutched at the side of his face, a thin red line trailing across his cheek where the low-hanging branch scratched him. Furious, he clasped both hands around the offending son of a stick, shook it vigorously, and finally snapped it in half. He glowered at Tim, whose eyes watered as he struggled to contain his laughter. "Can it, probie, before I smack you with it." He tossed the branch out through the broken side window and pushed roughly past Tim into the plane's cargo bay.

There wasn't much left in the ruined shell of a plane. Jenny had already taken most of the salvageable cans and tins of food, and outside of a couple of rusted barrels and three crates of mold-eaten uniforms the rest of the hold was empty. Tony motioned Tim over to help him move one of the barrels towards the center of the cabin where sunshine poured through a gash in the plane's fuselage.

"Ok, one, two, lift!" Tony felt his blood pressure surge and his legs buckle as the barrel lifted an inch off the floor. Tim's face and eyes seemed to pop out from his head, making him look very much like a pale angelfish. With a boom, the barrel slammed to the ground.

"Holy crap. . ." Tony wheezed as he slouched across the top of the overweight steel cylinder. "You know, it's not fair."

Tim curled an eyebrow and tried to still his labored breathing. "What's not fair?"

"Abby and Ziva get to fish all day in that pretty little pond and we're stuck out here. . .here. . .you hear that?"

Tim gave him an incredulous look at first, but then cocked his head to one side as a faint _thwip, thwip, thwip_ echoed through the cabin. Tony surveyed the room, perplexed to the source. "It almost sounds like a helicopter."

Tim turned a complete circle and scratched his head. Tony started to walk past him towards the cockpit but was snatched back by Tim's insistent grasp. Tony whirled on his friend but bit back his complaint when he saw Tim's wide-eyed, mouth agape expression. He followed Tim's gaze back towards the cockpit door, then felt a surge of adrenaline rush through his veins.

Twin black wings cut rapidly through the air as they held aloft a thumb-sized, black and yellow striped hornet, thick mandibles churning angrily beneath a bright orange pebble-shaped head. The hornet floated towards them, joined soon by another, and another, and even more as they streamed down the mangled branch that had drawn Tony's ire.

Tim made an audible squeak, and Tony agreed whole-heartedly with the muted statement.

As they tore through the forest at a speed he had never dreamed either of them could reach, Tony realized he had no idea where they were going. The chorus of buzzes that trailed behind him pushed out any rational thought, however, and he resigned himself to chasing Tim's half-running, half-leaping form to Timbuktu if that was what it took to get away from those dive-bombing spawns of hell.

Tim took a huge, bounding step and catapulted over a grey boulder, disappearing beyond its stony crest. Dismissing the probable non-existence of solid ground on the other side, Tony scrambled up the rock face and tumbled over the edge in pursuit. He swallowed in mid-air, not because there wasn't ground to meet him below, but because it was much closer than he had assumed. He twisted his face away from the rush of leaves that greeted him and gave a strangled cry as his right shoulder crumpled against a fallen tree trunk. His momentum pitched him completely over, slamming his back to the ground and sucking the air from his lungs. Pain burned up and down his spine, rendering him immobile as a series of buzzing hornets shot overhead and circled around him.

Strong hands pushed up underneath his shoulders, clasped around his chest, and pulled him away from the menacing horde. Tony felt the ground beneath him turn from crackling leaves to smooth stone, and the trees overhead gave way to a dark, cobweb-filled roof. Tim pulled him through a rivet-studded metal door, then leapt to his feet and clanged it shut. Through a dingy glass porthole set in the center of the door, Tony could see the hornets circling around the now-closed entrance.

Tony pulled himself up from the floor, keeping a hand on his throbbing shoulder. Tim turned away from the door and gave Tony a wide smile. "I'd say we're even."

Tony raised a hand to protest, but thought better of it as a warning stab of pain shot up his arm.

"You want to say a frickin' man-eating lizard is equivalent to a bunch of oversized bugs? Whatever, probie."

Tim shrugged. "You ran too."

"Yeah, well, I couldn't let you disappear into the jungle all by yourself, now could I? Gibbs would slap my head off my shoulders and send my headless body looking for you." Tony almost believed his line of reasoning himself, but the facade crumbled when Tim suddenly pitched his head forward and made a loud buzzing noise, sending Tony sprawling against the wall.

"Real mature, McGee," grumbled Tony as Tim howled in laughter. With his good arm he head-slapped the junior agent, then burst down the darkened hall as Tim chased after him.

The echoing of their footsteps gave way to shallow shuffling, the thrill of the chase turning to investigative curiosity. Tony ran his good hand along the sides of the lightless tunnel; moisture seeped through the walls, cold and rancid. The lone source of light came from the murky porthole set in the door they tumbled through, but it was more than enough to reach the opposite wall of the room. Tony heard Tim's breath catch as a glimmer of light caught on a few links of chain descending from the ceiling. At their end, shackles held fast the skeletal remains of a pair of arms, strips of cloth still tangled around their tissue-less bones. In a heap below them lay the rest of the victim, crowned by a hollow skull.

This time, Tony was the first to the door. He slammed all of his weight into the long iron bar that served as a handle, then collapsed backwards, howling in pain. Tim threw himself to the task, yanking repeatedly on the handle, then fell back in horror as realization swept over him.

The door was locked from the outside.

*** * ***

**Once again, sorry for the wait. I promise I will get more chapters more frequently as soon as I get to the weekend. Work has been hectic ;)**

***UPDATE* The NCIS: Castaways forum is now live forum DOT fieryprophet DOT com (no www)**

**Or access the link through my profile page! Enjoy! :)  
**


	24. The Hiding Place

Chapter 24 – The Hiding Place

As the light streamed through the water, its rays separating and trailing long golden fingers towards her, and a wet, gentle rumble pulsed in her ears, Ziva felt, for the slimmest of moments, whole again. Here, mere inches from the roiling surface and the ravaging world beyond, she was surrounded, comforted, held close by the cold water and numbed to all but the growing urge to breath. Here, in many ways only a gasp away from death, she once again felt the thrill of life.

A flash of pink surged past Ziva and set her heart beating again. Her lungs afire, she broke above the surface and broke into a gurgling cough. A few feet away, Abby's smiling face popped up from the crystal blue water, her long black hair matted across her eyes. She held one hand up high over her head, a translucently white fish with orange splotches sputtering in her grasp. "I caught one! Barehanded, too!"

Ziva let a smile break across her face. "Very good, Abby! Now get him to shore before he wiggles away!"

Abby pushed at the thick mesh of hair covering her face, finally pulling two strands far enough apart for one eye to peek out. Suddenly, the fish slipped out of her hand and plopped into the water. With a short gasp, she plunged in after it, churning the water into foamy white ripples as she kicked her way down into its depths.

Ziva chuckled and settled into a long, slow backstroke. A glimmer of suspicion crossed her mind as she glanced across the pond to the overgrown forest beyond. What if, rather than running the errand Gibbs assigned for him and Tim, Tony was crouched somewhere behind those bushes, overjoyed at the sight she currently presented as she swam naked through the water? As quick as the thought came to her mind, another one pushed it out, scolding her concern in light of Tony's long-proven maturation. If anything, he had become almost the opposite of his frat boy past, more apt to comfort and caress than to leer and exploit. Still, now that the idea of being watched had crossed her mind, she resolved to return to shore and dry off from her bath.

Once back to the shore, she knelt low to the ground and scampered towards her still-damp clothes draped across an outstretched tree limb. She ducked behind an outcrop of bushes and began to pull her clothes on, all the time wondering why the uneasiness she felt forming in the pit of her gut still lingered despite her resumed modesty. She stepped out from the brush and surveyed the idyllic scene before her; the waterfall tumbling into the water below, the cloudless blue sky above, the gently swaying forest, entirely devoid of human presence. And then she understood, and cried out: "Abby!"

* * *

She gave chase, pushing hard against the water as her prize darted a haphazard trail away from her. A flicker of orange and white disappearing behind a craggy gray rock strengthened her resolve; with two sweeping strokes she turned the corner and stared into a yawning blue-black gulf between twin pillars of stone. Abby felt a twinge in her lungs, the first sign that she should turn back, and return to sunshine and air. She almost decided to push off from the sand beneath her feet when she saw a faint glimmer of white from deep within the abyss, turning her curiosity against her. She could sneak a quick peek, just to see if her once-caught fish had cornered itself inside. She didn't really want to eat it anyways; she just had to satisfy her long-lived inquisitive nature. She swam in.

The water turned a murky blue as she slipped into the narrow passage. The sides of rock gradually closed towards one another, then terminated abruptly several feet in. Her sides aching, Abby resolved to go back, and started to flip her body around. She paused, stunned at the sight above her. A black hole rose straight up through the surrounding rock, a well ascending into darkness rather than sunlight. And then she saw the glimmer again, brief but very much real. Her decision made, she surged up into the tunnel, praying the entire way that she had not just sealed her death.

Her prayer only half-made, she breached the water's surface and was greeted with an iron-tinged stench as she gulped huge mouthfuls of air. As her eyes grew adjusted to the faint light, she realized she was in a huge cavern, and from the dull roar emanating from the stone walls she surmised it had formed behind the waterfall outside. Her hands found purchase on a low ledge, and she pulled her shivering body from the water. Shock registered throughout her body as her bare skin touched the icy cold stone. She thought ruefully of her clothes hanging next to Ziva's from a tree, waiting for her to finish her bath and return to them so they could happily provide her with some much-needed warmth.

Seeing as her clothes were not here, or even sentient, for that matter, Abby gritted her teeth and bore the chill instead, intent on making this little detour worth her trouble. The cavern stretched high overhead, almost as if its roof reached the top of the hill that housed it. In the far corner the roof crumbled into a pile of rubble, giving way to dusty rays of sunlight that softly illuminated the entire cavern. Compared to the cave that had been their refuge for the last couple of days, this cavern was near impregnable and vastly larger, with almost three times as much room. An assortment of large boulders partitioned it into spaces that could almost be considered rooms, and Abby's mind whirled with the possibilities this new space provided, given the time and right circumstances.

For now, however, she could no longer contain her shivers, and decided that it would not do anyone any good for her to freeze to death inside of a mountain just so she could look around it a bit longer. She dropped back into the black portal from which she came, took a couple of lung-bursting breaths, then plunged into the water. Hopefully, Ziva hadn't missed her yet.

* * *

**Once again, I apologize for the long wait, although you will be getting another chapter by tomorrow! I have had a super hectic couple of weeks :)**


	25. Interrogation

Chapter 25 – Interrogation

Having sent the boys to rummage through the rest of the World War II-era bomber's wreckage for supplies, and commissioned the girls to their long-desired baths in the pond outside, Jethro settled down before his still-bound captive and readied the interrogation. Jenny stood in the cave entrance, bearing the Kalashnikov in one hand and a bundle of ragged maps in the other. She gave him a knowing smile. "I'll be outside if you need me, Jethro."

Jethro gave her a small nod, and craned his head towards the sunlit entrance to be sure she did not linger outside as she disappeared beyond its edges. Satisfied with their privacy, he ran a lone finger along the length of the M1 carbine in his lap, his eyes unwavering in their response to Rathos' defiant glare. They sat this way for a length of time that seemed an eternity, a thousand words spoken in silence through the tremble of an eyelid or the quiver of a cheek. The prisoner broke first.

"Are you going to ask anything, or are you trying to bore me to death?"

The first victory his in what promised to be a long battle, Jethro let a smile break across face. He spoke softly, in the calm, muted voice perfected through years of dialogues in cramped, cold rooms with mirrors for walls. "No. You're going to listen first, and talk second."

Rathos snorted in reply. "So be it."

Jethro stood to his feet and began to pace a slow path around his target. "I'd say you're Indonesian, judging by your lack of a last name. I don't think that is your native land, however. You speak impeccable but heavily accented English, the kind I used to hear every day on the front lines of Iraq. Were you a diplomat? A doctor?"

"A journalist," said Rathos, his eyes narrowed in surprise.

"Rag writer, huh? Let me guess. You were glad to see us go."

"Screw you!" Jethro dodged the swirl of spit that shot from Rathos' mouth. The man continued in dark tones. "You have no idea what your country did to me."

Jethro crouched low in front of his captive. "What did we do?" Rathos sneered and turned his head away, his lip curled in disgust.

Jethro waited patiently for the man to answer his query, but with none forthcoming he stood slowly to his feet. A second later he slammed the butt of rifle to the ground and shouted "Answer me!"

The target of his anger whirled around, nostrils flaring and eyes promising murder. Still he said nothing.

Switching tactics, Jethro held out a hand and spread his fingers wide. "I have five of my people here. I will do whatever it takes to keep them safe, and whatever it takes to get them off this island." Emotion colored his words as he spoke in a quiet whisper. "I need to know what else is out there that could take them from me, Rathos. I need to know how to protect them."

Rathos stared blankly at him, his eyes darting about before settling on Jethro's outstretched hand. He remained transfixed for a moment, and a shadow seemed to pass over his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy, almost tired. "I supported your country, in the beginning. Saddam ruthlessly persecuted my Christian family. My father died in that murderer's prison."

Jethro stepped back and resumed his seat. "What changed?"

"You killed my wife, Elena, and my unborn son, shot dead in the Baghdad streets because your military was too damn arrogant to train its soldiers to do more than point a gun. Hold your hand out again."

Despite his confusion, Jethro complied and stretched his hand out, fingers facing up and palm facing towards Rathos.

"What do you think that gesture means?" said Rathos.

"Stop," replied Jethro.

"To you, as a Westerner, yes. To an Iraqi, it means 'welcome.' My Elena came to an American checkpoint, heavy with child and covered in her _burqa_ in accordance with the local customs. We had not been married long, but I loved her deeply. It was with much hope that I welcomed your invasion, hope that my wife could one day walk openly in freedom, her beauty unhidden. We could practice our religion freely, and my son could grow up in a new Iraq." His voice grew darker. "My wife did not understand the soldiers' orders, him repeatedly motioning her forward. I was called away from interviewing the local commander, told something had happened. I ran twelve blocks of Baghdad, only to find my wife lying in the street, blood soaking the sand where her body fell. I screamed, and ran toward her. Before I could reach her one of the soldiers slammed his rifle butt against my head. I collapsed to the ground, and crawled towards her, crying out in anguish. They heard my prayers, your soldiers did, as I pleaded in English to God, begging him not to take my Elena from me. And what did your soldiers say?"

Jethro let out a low breath in response.

"'The bitch should have stopped,'" said Rathos in a whisper, then his face twisted and he broke into an angry yell. "Damn you, Jethro. Damn you for thinking for one moment that you could even comprehend such pain! Damn you, a thousand times damn you to hell!"

"ENOUGH!" Jethro's roar echoed through the empty cavern. He lifted a warning finger in the air, and willed his body to still the tremors that rumbled through him. He spoke in a quiet, clear voice. "I understand it far more than you will ever know."

Jenny bounded into the cavern, her face registering her concern. Jethro started to dismiss her when Ziva, with water dripping from every square inch of her clothes, surged past Jenny and broke into a frantic stream of words. "Gibbs! It's Abby! She went in the water, and never came out! I tried and tried, and I can't find her! Abby's gone!"

* * *

Tim rested his head against the chilly stone wall, and regretted it immediately as water seeped from its moisture-coated surface and trickled down his neck. Tony lay to his side, his non-injured arm thrown across his eyes as the senior agent attempted to sleep. The attempt must have failed, however, because a moment later Tony interrupted the silence with a flat statement: "McGee¸ I hate you."

"Yea, Tony, I heard you the first hundred times."

Tony shook his head from underneath his arm. "You don't understand. I want to kill you."

Rolling his eyes, Tim folded his arms across his chest in a huff. "I'd like to see you try."

A smile crept across Tony's face. "There would be no try, only death. I'm going to have you trade places with Ernie over there."

Tim glanced over to the grisly remains that dangled from the roof in chains. "So you've named the skeleton now?"

Tony stifled a yawn. "It'll be named Timothy McGee soon enough."

With an angry growl, Tim kicked at the ground and yelled. "So you hate me now, huh, is that it? Just because I find a place to hide from those flying freaks of nature and it happens to be some sort of island dungeon, you wish I had died when that Komodo bit me!"

Tony pulled his arm away and pried one eye open. A broad smile stretched across his face. "I don't care about getting trapped in here, McGee. Well, I do, but that's not the point. I am very angry with you, Tim, because you have yet to tell me that you and Abby have been seeing each other again for the last six months."

Tim tried to pretend he had no idea what Tony was talking about, but knew in an instant that the burning sensation creeping across his cheeks gave him away. He regressed to his early days as a probie, and stammered indecisively. Finally, a realization of his own leapt to his mind, and he found his voice again. "Oh, yeah, well, when were you going to finally admit to me that you were in love with Ziva?"

Tony shot his head up, both eyes wide open. "We're not talking about me, probie."

Barely managing to suppress his glee at turning the tables, Tim pressed on. "Aha! I knew it! It's about time you came clean, Tony. I bet you've been crazy about her since the day she showed up."

Tony shook his head and stared absentmindedly into the distance. "Sometimes it feels like longer than that," he said quietly. He glanced back at Tim, his eyes narrowed. "This conversation doesn't leave this dungeon."

"OK," Tim agreed.

Tony peered over to the skeleton. "That means you too, Ernie!"

Tim shook his head, and weighed his next question carefully. "Does Gibbs know?"

"I'm surprised you didn't hear us, Tim. Yeah, he knows. We had it out right before that captive tried to sneak away from you. And lucky for you, the apple of your eye was there to save your newly skinny behind."

Tim chuckled. "Apple of my eye? Yeah, she may be mine, but I'm not convinced she feels the same."

Tony curled an inquisitive eyebrow. "Are you doubting yourself, my young probie? Does Miss Scuito not, how you say, put out?"

Without thinking, Tim reached out and smacked Tony hard against his injured shoulder. Tony responded with a screech of pain. "Ow! Bad arm, Tim, that was my bad arm! Sheesh, McCan't-Take-A-Joke. . ."

Tim mumbled an apology, then added a question of his own. "Do you think Ziva could be in a physical—"

"Don't ask the question, Tim. I mean it," Tony interjected, his eyes locked onto Tim's. "Ziva's been through a lot, but I will do whatever it takes. I will wait for her as long as she needs."

Tim nodded slowly in amazement at the magnitude of change that had taken place in his best friend. Still, he could not help but press the issue. "And if she is never ready to—uh—to be intimate again?"

Tony slunk low to the ground, his eyes again distant and dark. "Then I will wait forever."

The conversation died on Tim's lips as a sudden clank echoed through the darkened cavern, and a pair of eyes peered through the locked metal door's porthole.

*** * ***

**We've made it to the halfway point of my story! Only 25 more chapters to go! :)**

**I hope everyone has been enjoying the ride so far, and be aware all of the little plot threads are going to start coming together very soon.  
This has morphed from a random little plot idea to a full-blown storyline quite unexpectedly.  
Many thanks to my faithful readers and reviewers, you guys keep my creative juices flowing! :)**


	26. Something's Missing

Chapter 26 – Something's Missing

The elevator came to a stop, slid its much-battered door open and expelled Jimmy Palmer into a darkened hallway. Everything about the building told its age, a number that was close to a hundred if the multitude of creaking floorboards and peeling strips of paisley-patterned wallpaper were any indication. Jimmy ignored the chorus of groans and squeaks his feet made as he hurried towards the end of the hall, squinting in the dim light at the faded room numbers as he passed them. He turned the corner, stumbled over a dust-covered fake plant, and just managed to catch himself before he pitched headlong through an open garbage chute. An overwhelming stench blasted him from the chute's depths, forcing him to slap a hand over his mouth and ignore the sudden urge to gag. Pushing away from the foul odor, his watery eyes settled on the number he was looking for: Room 317.

Finding the door unlocked, Jimmy pushed his way in, slammed the door shut, and took a huge breath of air that, though stale and slightly musty, at least did not make him want to taste his breakfast over again. A voice spoke from across the room: "Dude! I asked you to stay in the car!"

"I didn't know you'd take almost an hour! I've got to use the bathroom," retorted Jimmy.

Devan Patel sat cross-legged in the middle of his living room (and as Jimmy surveyed the whole of the apartment, he surmised it also served as his kitchen/dining room/office/bedroom) surrounded by stacks of books, with several strewn about the floor with various socks and ties stuffed into their pages for bookmarks. He had three books straddled across his lap, and he sat there for a moment scouring their contents frantically. Finally, he glanced back up at Jimmy, his face showing both embarrassment and annoyance. "Well, you can see why I didn't invite you up. It's hard to keep four hundred square feet presentable for guests."

Jimmy shrugged. Despite the cramped quality of the apartment, it exhibited a certain charm of its own, if by charm one meant claustrophobia. Posters covered the walls, all featuring the same subject: a stunning Indian brunette with enticing doe eyes, captured in a myriad number of poses and expressions. "I'm sure there are worse," said Jimmy, unconvinced of his own statement.

With a sigh, Devan snapped the book in his hands shut and reached for another that rivaled the size of the D.C. phone book. "Yeah, well, I was unemployed for a long time. You know how much it costs to rent a cardboard box in this town?"

Jimmy responded with his own question: "Have you found anything yet? I still have no idea what we're supposed to be looking for."

"I forgot how much stuff on World War Two I had," said Devan, and motioned to a book-crammed cardboard box sitting on his couch. He gave Jimmy an inquisitive glance. "You think Dr. Mallard would let us raid his library?"

"Raid his library for what? Ever since we went to lunch today and you got spooked by the elevator camera you haven't made a lick of sense."

Devan gave an exasperated sigh. "What I realized, Jimmy, is that a satellite feed is nothing more than a glorified camera, and cameras can be manipulated. I have an IP address traced to the middle of the Pacific Ocean, and according to every satellite source I have tapped into, there is nothing there. However," and at this he flipped one of the books over and showed Jimmy a map drawn across its pages, "I bet there might be some historical records that say differently."

Jimmy nodded slowly in realization. "Well, tell me what to look for and I'll sit down and start reading too. I just need to—uh—take a quick leak. And—ahem—don't take this the wrong way, but I've never seen so many Aishwarya Rai pictures before."

Devan curled an eyebrow. "Are you telling me you never had bikini babe posters on your bedroom walls growing up?"

"Well, yeah, I did; in fact, I have a Farah Fawcett spread up in my apartment right now. But I don't know if I ever had quite this many. . ."

With a chuckle, Devan replied: "What can I say? She's the world's most beautiful woman."

"Eh. To each their own. Bathroom?"

Devan pointed to a small door across the room, then returned to poring through the huge tome in his lap.

The bathroom, like the rest of the apartment, seemed to have been built at half the size it should have been. Jimmy clenched his eyes shut and tried to ignore the claustrophobic panic that cramped quarters seemed to induce. His bladder finally quieted, Jimmy turned about and suddenly noticed a wrinkled eye leering at him from the bathtub. He self-consciously zipped up his pants, then reached a hand out and tugged at the shower curtain bunched up to one side of the tub. Aishwarya Rai unfurled before him, her lithe form, clad in the tiniest excuse of a cherry red swimsuit, stretched across a sun-drenched beach.

Jimmy shook his head. "That's just not right."

* * *

Abby emerged from the bushes, clad once again in her favorite, and for the foreseeable future _only_, outfit: a white camisole over a red and black undershirt, a solid black knee length skirt, and a pair of white stockings encased in glossy black platform boots. She noticed with some discouragement that several residual smudges still tainted her clothing despite her best efforts to clean them earlier that day. Maybe she could ask Tim if he could make her something to clean them with, like the time he gave her a basket full of her favorite fragrances remade as soaps. Such was the benefit of dating a former scout. . .

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden splash and a familiar voice shouting her name.

About a hundred yards from where she stood, she saw Gibbs crashing through the pond, his shirt cast aside at the water's edge as he high-stepped away from the shore. "Abby!" he shouted, his voice quavering. Ziva followed fast behind him, dripping from head to toe. She added her own cry for Abby, and plowed into the water after Gibbs. Too stunned for a moment to respond to their calls for her, Abby finally broke into a run towards them. "Hey! I'm alright! Gibbs! Ziva! I'm OK!"

Ziva whirled around, her hair slinging a stream of water and her mouth agape. Without a word, she changed directions, stormed onto the beach, and threw her arms around Abby. Too surprised at being the subject of a hug rather than the initiator, Abby simply stood there and ignored the water seeping through her clothes from Ziva's wet embrace. A moment later another pairs of arms encircled them both, and Abby felt hot tears trickle down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry if I scared you," she said softly. She felt Gibbs press a gentle kiss into her hair. "All I care about is that you're safe," he said.

Ziva pulled away and began to apologize. "I—I overreacted, Gibbs."

"No, Ziva! It's my fault," Abby protested. "I found something really hinky underwater, and kind of forgot that you were expecting to see me come back up."

Ziva's eyes remained downcast. "I still should have not assumed the worst."

"Ziver," said Gibbs simply. She lifted her head slowly, and did not protest when he pulled her to him and rested his chin on her head. "You did the right thing. We're all here, and we're all OK. That's what matters."

Ziva nodded softly, a small smile replacing her frown. She lifted her head up and cast a few inquisitive glances towards the forest. "What about Tony and Tim?"

Abby put her hands to her eyes and followed Ziva's gaze, her curiosity aroused. "Yeah, where are those two anyways?"


	27. You Got Me

Chapter 27 – You Got Me

"That. . .that is the greatest thing I have ever seen."

In other circumstances, Tim would probably not agree with Tony's sentiment, but the scene unfolding before them through the grimy view of the bunker's metal porthole was nothing short of glorious s_chadenfreude_. A few feet away, leaping about with an acrobatic grace, was a small, dingy white creature that resembled a thick-furred monkey. Its deep black eyes, which had moments ago been peering curiously into their locked cell, swiveled around in his head, laser-locked on the swirling array of hornets that buzzed overhead. It pounced straight into the air, snatching another of the angry insects in mid-air, landed square on its haunches, and bit its black-striped prey in half.

Tony broke into a loud applause. "Yes! Yes! Eat all of them! No, don't stop! EAT ALL OF THEM!"

Tim let a small smirk linger on his face as he shook his head. "I think he's got it, Tony. Looks like most of the horde has taken off anyways."

Tony turned to Tim, a self-satisfied smile stretched across his face. "I'm telling you, McGee, that's a monkey that knows his moves," he said, then furrowed his brow. "He is a monkey, right?"

"I guess. . .or maybe a macaque?"

Tony blinked. "A what?"

"Yes, Tony, it's a monkey," Tim rolled his eyes and peered back out the porthole. The hornets had disappeared, the scattered remains of their comrades the only trace of their existence. The monkey loped across the ground, chattering incessantly, then sat for a minute picking at various flecks of debris in his fur. Tim turned back around, then burst out laughing at the sight of Tony, sitting unawares in the corner of the darkened cavern, flicking bits of dust and dirt from his clothes in manner not unlike the creature outside.

Tony glanced up, furled his eyebrows, and spread his hands wide. "What? It's filthy in here. I feel like we've been stuck a month already."

Still laughing, Tim lowered himself down next to Tony and rested his head against the cold stone wall.

"Eh, Gibbs will find us. I have no doubt about that."

Tony shifted his injured arm and winced. "Neither do I, McObvious. You think the boss is going to miss a perfect reason to headslap us? Hell, I'm convinced if I ever got killed doing something stupid he'd show up right behind me at the pearly gates just to give me one last thwack."

Tim stifled a laugh, then pointed towards the darkening porthole. "It's getting dark again. Oh, and our's friend's back."

The monkey had clambered up to the small window again, his curiosity evident as he stared at the two captives, his little face animatedly changing expressions.

Tony cupped a hand to his mouth. "Hey! Mr. Monkey! You think you could get us out? Open the door!"

"I don't think he speaks English, Tony."

"Uhh. . . _¡Abra la puerta!_"

"Or Spanish. . .oh, great, you scared him," Tim groaned as the monkey disappeared from view.

"I did not. . ." Tony started to protest, but fell silent as a loud _clank_ reverberated through the room.

Tim scrambled to his feet, then turned to help pull his injured friend up. Suddenly, Tim became acutely aware of a tight knot forming in his stomach, as Tony's expression devolved from a look of excited relief to one of palpable tension. His eyes flitted to Tim's, warning him of the dangerous presence emerging behind the younger agent.

Tim turned slowly about, and his heart sank at the sight of four weapons aimed straight at him, grizzled, malevolent faces leering from behind them.

* * *

Ziva saw the wreckage ahead, the long ruined remains of a bomber that stretched across the forest floor. Her heart threatened to beat itself to death as she became acutely aware of the non-presence of Tony and Tim. She pressed on quietly, accompanied only by the whispered breaths of her two companions. Jenny's breathing seemed particularly labored, which made Ziva wonder if Gibbs should not have acquiesced to her demand to not be left behind with Rathos. Suddenly, Abby's voice broke the silence.

"Oh, God. They're not here. Jenny, they're not here!"

Ziva could hear Jenny trying to calm Abby down behind her, but as she took the last few steps to the empty derelict, the world around her seemed to dissolve and fade into nothing. Her eyes cast about the ground, desperate for clues. Her chest tightened with each passing second without answers, and then suddenly, there they were, almost glowed in the waning sunlight: a series of mangled blades of grass; overturned rocks; seemingly kicked away from their original points; and there, trailing away into the forest, two distinct sets of footprints. Only two. They were not followed, at least not on land.

The fog lifted with this revelation, and Ziva could feel hope seeping back into her heart.

"I have their trail! Look, they ran into the forest!"

Abby bounded to her side, her dark features registering obvious delight as she recognized the familiar imprints traced into the dirt. Jenny gave Ziva a glimmer of wink, clutched the Kalashnikov closer to her chest, and nodded her head in the path's direction, a broad smile across her face. "Shall we, girls?"

They pushed on, Ziva following the haphazard steps through the mud, Abby cutting their way through the thick underbrush, and Jenny keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings and mentally assembling a map of the way back. The forest remained strangely quiet, with naught but a few bird chirps breaking the silence.

Ziva stopped abruptly, and scrunched up her face. The trail of footsteps ended at the base of a tall grey boulder, almost as if Tony and Tim had literally ran _through_ the massive rock. _No_, thought Ziva, _they must have gone over it__._ She gave Abby a perplexed glance, took one step onto a hollowed crag in the rock, and with a huff pulled herself up to the boulder's edge. She peered down to the forest below, seeing nothing but trampled grass and bushes and. . .without a word she leapt away from the boulder and tumbled to the ground.

"Ziva, what . . ." Abby began, but Ziva quickly hushed her and motioned Jenny towards them. Once they were both within arms' reach, Ziva pulled them low to the ground and whispered harshly.

"We have to stay down, stay quiet, and stay hidden."

"Why, Ziva?" asked Jenny as she started to pull away, only to be snatched back down by Ziva's grasp. Ziva's eyes jumped back and forth between hers' and Abby's, and the wildness of Ziva's gaze made them both realize the gravity of their situation. "Because," said Ziva, her voice low and shaken, "they have them. They have Tony and Tim!"

* * *

**A/N: Forgot to add my "hiatus" note :)**  
**Sorry for the long wait, and I'm going to do my best not to keep you waiting like that again!  
1) My writing laptop died, took three weeks to get a new one, and****  
2) I got utterly slammed at work, and had to spend a lot of overtime that normally went to writing.**

**Thank you all for reading and reviewing, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the story! :)**


	28. Inquiry

Chapter 28 – Inquiry

Jimmy adjusted his grip on the utterly succulent bacon-lettuce-and-tomato sandwich he held in his hands. A bright white glop of mayo threatened to drip from the edges of the perfectly toasted sourdough bread, a fate he simply could not allow for such a magnificent culinary masterpiece. He brought the sandwich closer, mouth open wide and already savoring what was to come. . . when suddenly the lettuce vibrated to life, broke into a shrill buzz, then slid out of the sandwich , plopped onto the table and became silent.

_That's odd_, thought Jimmy. _Oh well, lettuce sucks anyways__._ He resumed his bite, but again could not bring the sandwich to his lips before another buzz burst from within it and the bacon slices leapt from their fate and dropped silently to the table. This continued until the entire sandwich had escaped Jimmy's grasp, its various components alternating every few seconds of silent normalcy with brief bursts of buzzing sentience. There was something very weird about the whole situation, but Jimmy couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He blinked an eye open. A blurry, indistinct but very bright room filled his vision. He couldn't feel his hands, or his legs, or anything below the neck, apparently due to the presence of a warm but heavy object draped across his shoulders. He closed his eye, summoned what little strength he could muster in light of the rest of his still-sleeping body parts, and managed to lift his head a half-inch from its resting spot. The weight on his back grumbled in protest, and something slick and sticky clung to one cheek as the world gradually righted itself. Jimmy fumbled with his glasses, realizing with some annoyance that their frame had twisted underneath his weight. He had been lying all night half-draped across a small table, a still-open book with a conspicuous drool stain and a missing page having served as his pillow. His cell phone, several missed calls showing on its screen, lay to the side of the book. The room came into focus: books lay scattered across the floor, the coffee table, and the loudly snoring body of Devan Patel, who lay stretched across the couch, a thick leather-bound book draped over his face. Jimmy turn stiffly about, and came face-to-face with a sour-looking orange Persian cat, its smooshed up face staring back at him with obvious disdain. With a disgruntled hiss, it leapt from its perch across the back of his neck and trotted off into the kitchen.

Jimmy stood slowly to his feet, stretched for what seemed like eternity, then peeled a still-clinging page from his cheek. Seeing a wastebasket across the room, he turned the page into a makeshift ball and shot it off the wall. It landed with a soft thunk in the wastebasket, and Jimmy smiled to himself. . .then tore across the room and snatched the crumpled page from the trash. He had been seconds from drifting to sleep the night before when his half-closed eyes came across a paragraph that his barely coherent brain still marked as extremely important. Something about a tragedy in the Pacific theater of World War II. . .

Jimmy's sudden burst of movement roused Devan from his sleep, as his friend sprang up with a start, sending his sleeping mask/book flying into the floor. Jimmy ignored Devan's curious stare as he crouched over the trash can, reading rapidly through the wrinkled sheet of paper in his hands. Finally, he glanced up at a Devan, a faint glimmer of a smile across his face. "I think you need to see this."

Devan took the offered page, and squinted blearily for a few moments as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight streaming through his apartment window. Jimmy watched his friend's face pass from mild curiosity to increasingly urgent alertness. Finally, Devan turned to Jimmy, a look of stunned amazement across his face. "Holy crap, do have any idea what this means?"

Jimmy nodded, and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "I have a bad feeling that some people in our government know _exactly_ where the agency's plane went down."

Devan leapt to his feet, and began stalking around his completely trashed living room.

Jimmy watched him with mild amusement. "What are you looking for?"

"My frickin' keys. We're, like, three hours late for work, and I need to talk to Director Vance about this," replied Devan, folding the page and slipping into his pocket. He glanced over to the kitchen, and pointed to the fuzzy orange cat circling around on the countertops. "Hey, could you feed Jupiter? There's a cat food in the cabinet over the fridge."

Jimmy gave the animal a hard look, to which it replied with another deep-throated hiss. "What? You didn't mind sleeping all over me, but you won't let me feed you? See, this is why I hate cats."

* * *

Leon Vance paced in his office, the lights dimmed and the plasma television off. He couldn't make heads or tails of Patel and Palmer's claims, even with Dr. Mallard's backing of their evidence. The implications were too sinister, the accusations too outrageous. He held a printout of a page from the 1952 edition of the _Encyclopedia Universalis_, a little-known educational text produced specifically for British expatriates in the Far East. He read through the text again, just to reaffirm its meaning in his mind:

_Battle of Regelis Isles, June 17-27, 1944_

_While the victorious campaign in the Marianas Islands overshadowed the Regelis Isles tragedy, the battle was one of the few setbacks for American forces during the 1944 Pacific theater. From what reliable sources remain, it can be determined the 800-man Marine reconnaissance battalion, led by Lt. Col. James R. Cofield, was opposed by as few as forty Japanese soldiers. However, these opposing forces were unusually well-trained in guerrilla tactics suitable to the harsh island environment, and several surviving soldiers make incredible claims of their opponent's capabilities, including: taking point-blank shots to vital areas of the body without being incapacitated, inhuman strength, aggression and violence, and utter disregard of fear. Initial casualties were estimated to be one-third to two-fifths of the battalion in the first day alone, despite its superior numerical and supply advantage. Over the next few days, several American soldiers fell ill to an unknown ailment that, in the description of one survivor, "destroyed their will to live." Those who were successfully constrained from acting on their suicidal urges would later exhibit capabilities similar to their Japanese counterparts, initiating a theory that illness itself was responsible for bringing about these traits. The propagation of the illness itself is unknown; however, the U.S. government dispatched an investigative team in 1950 to ascertain its origins. . ._

Vance stopped reading, returned to his desk, and once again entered the search query for "Regelis Isles" into the classified intelligence database. Once again, his query returned nothing. According to every authority and indication in the entire intelligence community, the islands did not exist. The battle never happened. He twirled a satellite-imaged globe around on his computer, and in the very spot where this battle supposedly happened, nothing but blue ocean stared back at him. The same spot that Devan had pinpointed the plane's re-routed location beacon.

Leon leaned back in his chair, chewing absent-mindedly on a toothpick, a low, sickening feeling beginning to spread from his gut. He knew exactly what he had to do, but every fiber of his being warned him against his next action.

He picked up his phone, hit a pre-programmed speed dial, and spoke brusquely to the voice that answered. "Give me Trent Kort."


	29. AUTHOR'S NOTE

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

I want to apologize for the year-long delay in updates to this story, dear readers, although I can finally say with some happiness that it will not persist. First, as some of you may be aware, I have a website attached to this little ficlet of mine, and through it I received correspondence from CBS that I was in violation of their copyrights regarding the television show and its characters. Now, the fair use exception of fan fiction in the United States has never been made entirely clear or explicit (although I'm of the opinion that fan fiction does fall within the fair use doctrine as long as the writers of it make their non-commercial intentions and proper attributions to the original copyright holders clear, which I believe I had done.)

My reply to the original cease-and-desist letter (which seemed to be little more than a form letter) went unanswered, so I began trying to get in touch with someone at CBS who could give me some kind of clearance or reassurance that I wasn't in any real legal trouble over something as silly as a fan fiction story. In the end, after several months of sending random emails and letters, I was able to contact a lower level CBS employee who wishes to remain anonymous. This individual basically informed me that the original flag probably was triggered by the presence of the website and the book cover I had created to promote the story. Granted, I might have gone a little overboard in my story promotion, especially since the average fan fiction text is attributed to a pseudonym, while my website used my real name and had wallpapers, a fan forum, and a downloadable version of the work in progress. I was told that taking the website down and making sure to inform people that I am not in any way licensed or affiliated with CBS or the NCIS production team should allow me to return to the legal "grey" area in which fan fiction operates. So, from this point on, this is a story by fieryprophet (my online handle) and the associated website is no longer accessible (which saddens me, as I thought it was pretty nifty.)

On a related side-note, once I finish up this story, I will be exploring an original work of fiction over the next year or two that will very likely be released periodically online for any interested readers to enjoy. I will make a post about it at the end of this storyline (which is a little over halfway done) and hope you choose to read it as well.

Thank you all for reading, and look forward to a new chapter later this week!

- fp


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